


if you lose a precious thing

by urcadelimabean



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Anal Sex, Archive warnings for past only, Canon-Typical Violence, Charles lives, F/M, Femdom, Jack and Anne are eventually platonic life partners, Jack mourns Charles' death, Love Confessions, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Drug Use, Past Sexual Abuse, Slavery, Threesome - F/M/M, how does Jack end up in so many threesomes, mostly canon compliant until it isn't at the very end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 07:32:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 46,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14444427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/urcadelimabean/pseuds/urcadelimabean
Summary: After the destruction of Charlestown, the threat of retaliation from England looms over Nassau. Jack finds it increasingly hard to repress his feelings for Charles now that they are partners in Nassau's defense.





	if you lose a precious thing

**Author's Note:**

> pairings, characters’ sexualities and content warnings
> 
> feel free to skip, I just would rather have too many disclaimers than too few in case people want them.
> 
> Background Maxanne, past Eleanor/Charles. I feel like this doesn’t paint Eleanor in a very good light, and I actually love her, but didn't feel like I could make this flattering to her from the POV of the characters involved. Definitely think that Eleanor and Charles’ relationship was unhealthy for both of them.
> 
> Max/Anne + Jack/Charles are basically my two OTPs sort of joined at the hip by Jack and Anne. Jack is bi. Max is a lesbian. Anne is a lesbian who fucks Jack while she’s coming to terms with her sexuality. I tagged this as Jack/Anne because if someone wants to avoid that they probably want to avoid this fic or that part of it (and as mentioned in the tags, there is a threesome) but I also don’t see Jack and Anne as a primarily romantic or sexual ship. They’re both figuring out a lot of stuff about themselves here. I think it’s great that Black Sails explores complicated relationships like that, and I hope I’ve done a good job explaining where I’m coming from with this.
> 
> This was originally supposed to be a bunch of PWPs but it turns out I can't write one without getting sidetracked. I had a lot of fun writing about the relationships between Max and Jack and Anne, exploring how Jack avoided getting murdered by Flint, Max and Jack fix-it scenes with hugging, and the awkward Charles-coming-out-to-his-dad scene that no one asked for. Suddenly it was 25k and then it was 35k and I don't know what happened. Lots of porn, lots of angst, hopefully a good balance between the two?? I don’t know. Charles’ kink is love and affection, but Jack’s kink is literally whatever Anne or Charles want to do with him. 
> 
> To avoid people wondering how I'm writing Flint's sexuality, even though it doesn’t play a big part, let me just say clearly: he's gay but Charles has no gaydar and assumes he’s straight. (Though you are welcome to read him as bi as well.) I don't think most characters in Black Sails know about other characters’ queerness unless they've been in a relationship (or had a fireside Silverflint chat) with the exception of Charles knowing about Max. Especially with Flint, his sexuality is so private and I can see someone like Eleanor being kind of out, but not Flint.
> 
> “The visit from the taskmaster in the dead of night" sounds like sexual abuse to me, so that’s how I’ve interpreted it here. Archive warnings apply only to events that happened in the past.
> 
> Slight canon divergence when it comes to Jack's plan to rebuild the fort. I didn't want to cut out Jack's plan to use slave labor because one of the things I love about Black Sails is that all of the characters do fucked up shit at some point, and so I felt like it needed to be talked about. I also felt like the show didn't really do justice to Charles here, so that's where the canon divergence comes in. Charles won't allow Jack to go through with his plan.
> 
> Not sure if either of these fit the mood of this fic, but I listened to a lot of Loreena McKennitt’s [ The Mystic's Dream ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QFAfWH_CKVw) and Sofya Wang's [ Boys Aside ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NlAW7l6dmeA) (which lyric-wise deeeefinitely doesn’t fit at all).
> 
> Okay this fucking thing is like 90 pages and I need to just stop working on it and let it be free. Comments are cherished and appreciated!!

_"Charles Vane’s death is inside that box, along with my good name, along with her lost love...  
and those things are sacred things that I trust in no man’s hands."_

 

Jack stood on the beach, impatient, watching longboats emerge from the morning mist. The manowar was anchored in the harbor beyond, pale and ghostly behind the veil. The ship had appeared on the horizon hours before in the still morning darkness, and Jack had sent out a message as soon as it cast its anchor.

Now the sun was burning off the moisture that had settled in the cool hours before dawn. In one of the nearing longboats was Flint, having just learned who had deceived him and robbed him of the Spanish treasure. The fortune sat golden and ominous in Nassau Fort, and Jack could feel its presence and the retribution it would engender like a sword stroke ready to fall. Though the gold had been mutually exclusive to any plans Flint had of securing pardons as Jack had understood it then, his subterfuge would surely require an answer. Better to meet that answer here, now, in broad daylight, as he had argued it to Max, than invite incursions upon a damaged and untenable fort. Jack did not know yet which way this story would play out, with him as a victor or--well, the other options all seemed to end with him very much dead. But he would take his chances--that was the only way he knew how to face this.

And Charles…

Jack shifted, squinting into the sun.

He had seen the remains of Charles' love for Eleanor in the fort where he'd left it, crucified. News of what had transpired in Charlestown had reached Nassau, and Jack had known Charles was alive. He did not know what hopes had died within him that night in the fort, or what shape the wounds from Eleanor's betrayal had taken, only that there were wounds, and that they were surely as deep as his love for her had been.

Years before, when Jack had joined his crew, Charles Vane had seemed half-man half-god, impervious to pain and utterly without fear. He was unconcerned with his legacy, or perhaps confident that his name would be feared and remembered after death, and fought with animal ferocity Jack had only ever seen before in Anne. But there was pain there, and there was fear--Charles was human after all, and maybe even more formidable for it, the secret to his courage not some sort of madness or supernatural power but a complete refusal to be ruled by fear. And the one person who Charles counted as stronger than him held such power over him that the absence of her good favor was his utter destruction.

It seemed a lifetime ago that Jack had dragged him across the sand to his tent, lifting him by the waist with little effect. Charles was solid muscle soaked through with rum, and Jack had been underfed and incredible tired. He had deposited Charles unceremoniously on the floor, and swiped the half-empty bottle from beside the bed. “You've had quite enough," he had snapped. “I'll be taking this." Charles had raised a finger slowly to point up at him.

"Fuck you, Jack."

It had always been like that when he and Eleanor were fighting. Jack didn't think Charles thought about how much it hurt him. Night after night Jack had deposited his captain back into the pit of despair from which he had arisen and felt unable to do anything about it, or worse, found him collapsed and bloody in the aftermath of a fight.

Jack had removed glass shards from his macerated flesh as gently as he could. Charles barely flinched.

It had been years before when he was new to the _Ranger_ that Jack had learned their captain had once been a slave, and he had wondered at the time how much physical and psychological pain the man--a boy then--had lived through. He knew now with cold certainty that it had been too much for any person to stand, if this disturbing nonchalance with violence was anything to go by, as if a lifetime of hard labor and beatings and terror legitimized this ill-treatment of a body.

Charles had been pale and drawn that night. “My leg,” he had growled, and Jack had fumbled with his trousers, pulled off the bloodied garments and held Charles' bare thigh between his knees, where a dark wound had been slashed into the muscle. Charles’ hips were turned slightly to the side to spare his bad shoulder, his cock lying against his thigh, bare chest heaving as Jack applied pressure to the wound.

“For fuck’s sake, Charles," he had whispered, "why do you take this abuse? If I had enough thread for every stitch I've put in you since we came here, I could mend half the sails on our god-damn ship. Right, we don't have a ship."

" _Fuck you_ , Jack.”

Charles had been in bed a week, delirious from too much sleep and too much opium by turns. Jack had found out that he'd killed the owner of the brothel and a handful of his men. He had removed the stitches, and left Charles, still naked, a little bloody--mostly healed. With that relief came renewed fear that he would throw himself back into this self-destructive cycle--or go back to Eleanor.

"Fuck do you care," Charles replied when asked.

Jack had squinted at him. "That's a ridiculous thing to say to me,” he had said a bit more angrily than intended. “I am your best, if not only ally. Won't you at least listen to what I have to say?”

Charles had stopped, turning slowly to him. "And what do you have to say?"

"You're going to go up there, yell at Eleanor, she'll yell at you, one of you will punch the other in the face." Jack raised his eyebrows. "Best case scenario, she fucks you, though it is extremely unlikely. This whole cycle will begin again."

"What's wrong with that," Charles had asked, his voice a quite rasp.

"What's wrong with-" Jack had opened his mouth and then closed it.

He pictured Charles, lying ruined on the floor of his tent, seeking to drown his heartbreak in a bottle or his own blood--whichever flowed faster. He didn't know _why_ the lack of Eleanor's good favor caused Charles to want to destroy himself like this--he simply knew that this was the way things were and always had been. And here he was, helpless, trying to do something, anything. He focused decisively on his anger--at Charles, at Eleanor, even at himself--instead of the other emotion clawing at his chest, distress, grief, devotion, all rolled into one.

"For heaven's sake, Charles, she's using you." Jack couldn't bring himself to finish the rest of the thought: _I don't believe she loves you, or that she ever has._

Charles had looked down the road to where the light from the tavern illuminated squares on the street, perhaps filling in the blanks of Jack's silences. At last he turned away and began walking back towards the brothel, paused and said quietly over his shoulder, "Fuck you, Jack."

"Yes, fuck me for knocking some sense into you," Jack had snapped. "For being the only one who's looking after you--" but Charles was well out of earshot. He had left the next day in a skiff, fading into the darkness without a word about where he was going.

What had followed were the hardest days Jack had ever spent in Nassau, struggling to regain his good name, unsure of whether he could trust Max, wondering if Charles had gone off and gotten himself killed. Then he was no longer quartermaster to Charles but a captain in his own right, and God be damned if he wasn’t willing to fight tooth and nail to keep the shred of good fortune he had found.

Then losing Anne, despite his best efforts to prevent it--for only a short time though it had felt like an eternity. She had saved his life from what Jack was sure was another of Eleanor's betrayals, appearing as suddenly and silently as they had come, making short work of both men with her long knives. She had taken him to bed and fucked him after that just how she liked, holding him down, not entirely necessary with his hands bound to the bed, but the message was clear--he was still her partner, she would not allow herself to be forced to choose between lovers, and she would be on his ship.

She liked to run her thumb over his lip, into his mouth, as she ground down against him. The feeling of her legs on either side of him, the sounds of their gasping together, never felt like just sex, it was more intimate, more familiar than that, knowing every part of each other's bodies and histories, except maybe the history still waiting to be written.

She had never asked about Charles, and he wasn't sure what she thought or if it needed to be said aloud—unreciprocated and unconsummated as it was, and therefore a non-issue for the two of them. She was fighting to accept this thing inside herself, this physical need and fierce tenderness for another woman, and that commonality between them was enough to dull the ache.

He had softened toward Max, seeing how gentle and devoted she was to Anne, and beneath that, how ferociously protective. He couldn’t resent her for falling in love with Anne for the same reasons he had, years ago, when their unlikely partnership and tenderness for each other was all they had in the world. He couldn't resent her, not when she gave Anne something he could never give her, couldn't really ever understand, not being born that sex or subject to those realities. He had tried, and he may have been able to save Anne from those horrors years ago, but there was something in her, maybe, that would only heal with another woman. Jack wanted her to find it more desperately than he wanted to possess her solely for himself--she had never been his to possess.

Charles' attempt to control trade in Nassau had been successful for a time, and Jack much preferred seeing him sit at the table with the other captains than drink himself to death, even though both were poor attempts at dealing with his feeling for Eleanor.

Jack remembered a time when he had walked into Charles' room in the fort and seen him beneath a whore, naked and breathless, not embarrassed as much as inconvenienced by Jack’s presence. "Fuck you Jack, yes I know," he had said before Charles had the chance, and left the fort, stepping out into the bright sunlight, looking up at the sky and whispering to himself, _God, I wish you would._

 

Jack snorted, hand drifting to his sword hilt as he squinted against the sun. This was not the time, not ever, to think about this. He should be focused on what lay ahead. But he couldn’t deny how much he had anticipated seeing Charles, now that he had something to show for himself, something to lend legitimacy to his name and his captaincy. Not just anything--five million Spanish dollars.

He'd given everything to reach this moment. It all came down to how he could measure himself against the greatest strategist and naval tactician Nassau had ever known, whether or not he could diffuse that conflagration of anger that drove Flint with unstoppable force. It would be difficult, but he had proven himself against improbable odds before.

He saw Charles first, jumping out of the longboat into the water and striding towards him. He was bearded, his hair hanging loose on his shoulders, looking no worse for wear than when last Jack had seen him. Before Jack could say anything--God knows he's been standing there long enough to think of _something_ \--Charles pulled him into a rough embrace. Jack raised his hands to clasp the back of his shoulders.

"So you've won us a fortune in Spanish gold," Charles murmured in his ear. His beard brushed against the side of Jack’s cheek as he pulled away.

Jack raised his eyebrows as they looked at each other. "I may be a very rich man but that won't really matter if I'm a dead one.”

He looked past Charles to Flint, standing in the surf watching them. Flint approached, radiating incredible power for a man of his stature, eviscerating Jack with his eyes.

"You stole my treasure, by your own confession," Flint began evenly, although his mouth was starting to twitch. "Do you know how much I have sacrificed for that gold?"

Jack took a breath. "Can you say for a moment you wouldn't have done it in my place? If someone came to you, and sold you the information?"

It was clearly the wrong thing to say. Flint unsheathed his sword. "I don't really care," he whispered, looking aside at Charles. "That treasure was meant for the future of this place, a future  _she_ will never see." He looked past Charles into Jack's eyes. "Are you a coward? Are you willing to fight me for what you took behind my back?"

"I am just as invested in the future of this place as you," Jack replied quickly, "everything I've built here, tried to accomplish here--"

Flint swung at him and Jack barely managed to deflect the blow, the second swing of the sword going wide, slashing his shoulder before Charles threw his entire weight into Flint with a snarl and sent him stumbling backwards. He knocked the sword from Flint’s hands, drew his dagger and pressed it to Flint's throat in one fluid and deadly motion.

"I thought we had a partnership," Charles hissed. "Don't you know that he wants the same future that you want for this place?" He shoved Flint away, dagger still in hand. "If you touch him again, or even think about hurting him, I will consider our partnership over," he whispered. "That goes for your men as well. Don't think just because you took your late quartermaster's life that I care so little for mine.” Something dark and dangerous shifted in Flint's gaze. Charles didn't seem to notice or care. “I will stop at nothing. Charlestown will look like a mercy after I'm finished with you. Do you understand me?"

Flint smiled tightly, glanced at Jack, practically crackling with rage. "We'll discuss terms. Tonight."

Charles narrowed his eyes, chest heaving, every muscle in his body tightly coiled and ready to spring back into action. "Consider this your last warning."

Flint nodded slowly, and retrieved his sword. Charles waited until he had returned to his men, sheathed his own weapons and turned to Jack.

He pressed a hand to Jack's shoulder where blood was staining the fabric.

"You're bleeding," he whispered, and the irony was not lost on Jack, who grimaced, looking down at Charles' scraped knuckles, back up at the slash across his cheek, perhaps a day or so old.

"Waste of money on the coat, don’t you think?" he said.

"Come on," Charles growled, steering him by the shoulder towards the fort.

Coat discarded, bandages strewn around him, Jack held a hand over his wound to staunch the flow of blood. He watched Charles pace across the flagstones, his face hidden in the cool darkness of the fort.

"You won't change his mind with just a threat," Jack pointed out.

"How's your shoulder?" Charles interrupted.

"Fine. About what happened back there, on the beach."

Charles stopped, his back turned to Jack as he faced the window. "I meant what I said. You secured the future of this place. Doesn't seem right to begin that future with your death, does it?" He turned, grinning at Jack.

"Yes, I'd like to avoid that. Christ...island of lying, murdering, talentless fucks and I must be one of the worst swordsmen among them," Jack groaned. "Never regretted that so much as I do now."

“You’re not so bad, Jack.”

“Compared to Flint?”

Charles hummed a laugh, conceding the point. "So you're planning to talk your way out?"

"What other options are left open to me?" Jack exclaimed. "For God's sake, it's not like someone on Flint's own crew didn't sell him out just to increase their own profit. You came to Charlestown to kill him and he doesn't seem to have a problem with that. I am far from the only villain here."

"Keep that up," Charles replied, mouth curving into a smile, "maybe you'll talk him into giving up the manowar while you're at it."

Jack let out a short laugh.

"But first step's saving your ass."

Jack glanced at him. "You know, I wasn't really expecting Flint to try to kill me after just saying hello. Thought I'd be able to make a short case for myself first. Greatly miscalculated."

Charles shrugged his shoulders. "He has been a bit more unhinged than usual." His jaw clenched as he looked at Jack. "I should have anticipated that."

"Who was the woman he mentioned, the one in whose name he was prepared to publicly behead me?"

"An old love, now lost," Charles murmured, and turned away again. "Killed, in Charlestown."

He was silent for a long moment, leaning on the stone sill of the window, looking out over Nassau, perhaps remembering the death of this woman Jack did not know, whose history was obscured in the darkness surrounding Flint, her story somehow inextricably linked with his in a way that an outside observer simply could not understand.

"Before you ask, she's dead to me," Charles said. His voice was quiet but hard with decisiveness.

Jack got to his feet and crossed to where Charles stood. Charles glanced at him, then ground out in a hoarse whisper, "I'm fine."

"No one in their right mind would believe a lie like that for a second," Jack said gently.

Charles lit a cheroot, then turned to look at him. "I'm sure you think I'm going to ruin myself over Eleanor again," he began, "like I did before."

Jack took a small breath and let it out, in no way reducing the tension in his body. "Mm." His eyes followed the line of Charles’ shoulders, and it was all he could do to not to reach out and touch him, try to give him some measure of comfort, anything. But Jack didn't know the first thing about how to do any of that, or if he had the courage to try.

Charles took a step closer. "In moments of clarity, I could see that's what I was doing. Destroying myself over her. The drinking, the fighting, the opium." He looked away, his shoulders lowering as he let out a humorless laugh. "Admitting to myself, to the world, that if I was unworthy of her love, then perhaps I was unworthy of any love."

"You know that's not true," Jack interjected, horrified, and Charles' eyes darted to his face.

"Hadn't learned my lesson then," he continued quietly. "But she taught it to me well this time. I won't forget it." He glanced at Jack. "What, don't tell me you miss having to manhandle me back to my tent every night, sweating and bleeding all over you?"

Looking at Charles' grin, Jack couldn't help but let out a laugh. "I'm not really built for manhandling you. Please don't put me through that again.” He glanced at Charles earnestly and shook his head. Lowering his voice, he added, “Please. Don't put yourself through that again."

"Island full of lying, cheating fucks, but you've always been loyal to me," Charles said quietly, still smiling at him.

Jack shook his head again, narrowing his eyes at Charles before he looked away. "You know what I think...if you were to go down that road again, you'd be letting her ruin you, making you hers even when she won't have you." He opened his mouth to continue, then closed it, thinking it might be better if he remained silent. The longer he talked the harder it would become to prevent the shape of his words from revealing the thoughts beneath them, but when Charles looked at him like that, Jack wanted to let honesty drive those thoughts from his lips.

Charles looked at him thoughtfully. "That so?"

Jack bit his lip, snatching his bloodied coat with his good arm as he turned to leave. "Stay off the opium, Chaz. I need you awake tonight if Flint's in the mood for another beheading."

Charles took another drag from his cheroot, a half-smile on his lips. "Fuck you, Jack."

 

When he returned to the brothel, Anne greeted him with a pained expression, seeing him holding his injured shoulder.

"The coat, I know."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "You know that ain’t what I was gonna say. Be careful, Jack."

He spent the afternoon pouring over the numbers, writing up a dozen scenarios, different shares for different crews, until he was satisfied. He deposited the finished papers on Max's desk.

"What is this?" she asked, picking up the leaflets, glancing them over quickly. "You think you can sell this to the men?"

"Yes, I believe I can," Jack replied, pouring himself a drink, draining it and slamming the glass down on the table. "What do you think?"

She smiled slyly at him.

After he'd changed the bandage on his shoulder and pulled on a fresh coat, he found Charles leaning against the wall in the shadows near the door of the brothel with Anne. They reminded him of two stray cats, familiar with each other, standing a bit apart, but not needing to interact beyond the bare minimum of acknowledging the other’s presence. Well, for all Jack knew they'd been having a rousing discussion about literature.

He doubted it.

"Wealth is a good look on you, Jack," Charles murmured low in his ear, slapping his good shoulder as they walked out onto the street and headed for the tavern. Anne smiled at him from under the brim of her hat.

"Watch my back, both of you," Jack said, ginning despite himself.

 

Assembled in the tavern were Flint and the other captains, their quartermasters, and crews, or as many of the men as could squeeze into the overcrowded room. Night had fallen, warm and dark, and the air was filled with the kinetic energy of anticipation and the whispers of men with gold on their minds. Jack approached them and laid his articles on the table.

Flint stepped forward and silence fell upon the men. He spoke evenly, filling the room with his voice without raising it. “Why don’t you begin by explaining to my crew here why we shouldn’t settle this captain to captain, pistols then swords?”

Jack looked up at the men in the balconies and strode forward. “Am I to blame for the deception of one of your own crewmates?” he asked. “One among you now, right now, deceived his brothers, sold you out, believing that treachery would never be uncovered or punished. Am I really the only villain among you?” He paused, searching their faces, and shook his head. “What about Charles Vane, who took your ship?” He turned to Flint, and Silver behind him with a feverish look, leaning on a crutch. “Whose men maimed your quartermaster? What about the men in England, in Carolina, who want to see _each and every one of us hanged or slaughtered like animals_? Who have already done so, in Charlestown?"

Flint shook his head, his lips trembling slightly. He took a deep breath. “What you did requires an answer--”

Jack gritted his teeth and addressed the crews. “I didn’t take the treasure from you, I have _delivered_ it to you. When will you understand that I am _not_ your enemy? I may have been, before Charlestown, but not anymore." He turned to Flint, rapping the table with his knuckles. "Do I need to remind you that if it wasn’t for Charles’ loyalty to Nassau’s future, you would be swinging over Charlestown right now, your neck in a noose?”

Flint wrinkled his lips into a snarl, but remained silent.

Jack leaned on the table, looking Flint in the eye. He lowered his voice and spoke with urgency. “We could spend all night and all day listing every way everyone in this room has betrayed another, we’d be here until the British arrive on our shores. And they will, if we don’t prepare for their arrival. Do you really want to begin Nassau’s future by thinning her ranks, setting crews against each other, for what? Fewer men with larger shares? Nassau would be indefensible. All that wealth wouldn’t be able to buy your way out, not after that. We wouldn't even be able to _hurt_ them, for heaven's sake."

Flint let out a slow measured breath. “And what do you propose?”

“A well-defended Nassau that can repel any moves made against it, that is ready for whatever war is coming to obliterate us. Shares for each crew involved in securing the treasure and taking the fort. Yours, mine, his.” He motioned towards Charles. “Shares for other captains who will participate in the defense of Nassau. A portion of gold set aside to finance the rebuilding of the fort and strengthening of Nassau's other defenses.”

"What about the other crews?" came the voice of a man from the crowd.

Jack narrowed his eyes. "You think you get anything for lazing about on the beach, hunting prizes less than half as dangerous as the one that carried that gold? I'll tell you what you get. When Spain or England moves against us, you will get to _survive_ because of the gold in that fort. Not a penny more." He finished breathlessly, searching the eyes of the men assembled.

Murmurs went up around the room, and Flint silenced them with a look. “Is that all?”

“No. The manowar. I don't think it belongs to you. It will remain here in the harbor in defense of Nassau, under joint ownership of the three of us.”

Flint’s eyes lit. “What the fuck—what ship do you expect me to sail instead?” he whispered.

“The _Walrus_ ,” Jack replied evenly. “Refitted, used to transport the rest of the gold back here because there was so much of it. She’s been out hunting a prize under the direction of my quartermaster, but she’s due back tomorrow.”

Conversations broke out among the crews again and Flint made no effort to silence them. Amid the clamor, he turned to Silver and exchanged a few quiet words with him. Jack allowed himself a bit of a smirk, and glanced over at Charles and Anne, who were both smiling back at him. It had been a good touch to leave that last bit till the end, he thought--if there was one thing he knew about these men it was their sentimentality towards their ships. And better to offer them the ship before they knew it was a piece on the table than to wait for them to discover it, and see it as just another thing he had stolen from them.

Ultimately, Jack was counting on the fact that Flint was a strategist, blinded by recent grief or not. A move against Jack would provoke Charles, and if Flint was successful in that fight, Nassau would lose not one but two of its captains at a time when the strength of its numbers was of greatest importance. Jack knew Flint was already thinking ten steps ahead about the way the battle to defend Nassau would likely play out against their real enemy--their shared enemy--which had caused his grief, and would need to answer for it. But Jack hadn’t just needed to convince Flint--he had needed to win the hearts of the men, and Flint had given him the opportunity to do so.

Flint agreed to sign the articles tomorrow once they’d reviewed all the details in writing, and shook his hand with what Jack hoped was grudging respect. When Jack returned to the brothel, he collapsed into a chair, poured himself a drink, and drained it.

“Oh, I deserved that,” he muttered as Max came up behind him.

She beamed at him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Well done. We have reason to celebrate tonight.” She looked up as Anne approached them, bit her lip and grinned as Anne’s lips curved into a small smile. Anne squeezed Jack’s hand as she passed him, and Max led her up the stairs. Jack raised his glass after them.

Charles appeared in the doorway and made his way over, taking a seat opposite Jack and leaning forward on the table. “Not bad, Jack,” he murmured, smiling. “Looks like I didn’t have to save your sorry ass after all.”

Jack raised his eyebrows. “Oh, there’s time yet.”

He watched as Charles was led away by one of the whores, as she ran her hand down Charles' chest, over his necklaces, to where his shirt hung open to his sternum--Jack looked away, struck suddenly by bitterness, paused, then took another drink.

It wasn’t _just_ jealousy, he argued to himself, although even he didn't quite believe that. But still, Charles deserved better than paying for someone to love him. Jack couldn’t help but imagine—

He shook his head, trying to will away the images of them tangled in bed together, and then after how he would hold Charles with reverence and run a hand over his hair. Jack’s chest tightened painfully, as if his heart would rather skip out on this whole mess. He couldn’t blame it. It would be one thing if he just wanted Charles to fuck him--he could satisfy that need in other ways with Anne. It was how he _felt_ that was the problem--a feeling he would call love without hesitation when applied to their friendship. But admitting it was love within the context of something more--that was what terrified him.

At least Charles wasn't drinking himself to death or self-medicating with opium. At least he had returned from his last battle mostly unharmed. At least...at least. Jack took another drink.

He passed the time watching the others make fools of themselves at the bar and go off to have more sex than they had any right to. The day’s heat finally abated as the night deepened, cool and windless. The brothel was still filled with noise, but the hour seemed to dampen the sound. Numbed slightly with alcohol, Jack climbed into bed and lay on his back with a groan.

He heard the door open and sat up slightly, heard Anne's soft footsteps approaching the bed. She got in beside him, found his uninjured shoulder with her hand in the darkness and laid her head against it. She was warm, relaxed, with that special softness she always had after she'd been with Max, vulnerable for a little while before the world told her she needed to be hard again.

"Thought you were spending the night with her," Jack murmured, raising a hand to smooth her hair.

"Was. Sleeping here though.”

"Darling," Jack sighed, resting his face on the top of her head, "please don't give up the opportunity to have the best sex of your life because you're afraid it'll make me jealous."

Anne shifted against him. "Ain't like that. Missed this."

Jack closed his eyes. "I missed this too."

"Where's Vane?"

"Donating to this fine establishment, I believe."

Anne pulled back slightly to look up at him, and Jack could just barely make out the silhouette of her face. "Have you ever…”

"Have I ever fucked Charles Vane?" he asked incredulously. "Good God, don't you think I'd've told you?"

Anne rested her head back on his shoulder. "Might do you good...if you wanted."

"Marvelous," Jack whispered, "and you were able to deduce that I wanted this how?"

"Jack," Anne said quietly, "I know what you like in bed. I just thought..."

"Mm." He was quiet, indignant.

"Aint jus' that," she muttered. "Him and Eleanor...now that's all over. Seems to me."

Jack squeezed his eyes closed. "Would it...would it change things between us--" He fell silent.

Anne's voice was quiet and gentle in the stillness. "Who the fuck would I be to say that it would? Me and Max...it don't change me and you. You know that, right?"

Jack lifted a hand to stroke her hair. "I know."

"At first I thought it was just sex, and I wasn't right in my head about it, but it ain’t just that anymore, hasn't been like that for a long time with us," she continued. "Tell me you don't feel the same about 'im and I won't bring it up again."

Jack let out a breath, but didn't reply. He simply wrapped his arms around her shoulders and breathed in the scent of her hair, and lay awake thinking as she drifted off to sleep against him.

 

The _Walrus_ came into port the next morning. Jack went down to the beach to greet Featherstone and order the ship unloaded. They'd brought back a full cargo of coffee and sugar, with only minimal damage to the ship, which still looked a hell of a lot better than it had when Jack had found it near the wrecks of the _Urca._

After a few days, the _Walrus_ was ready to sail again under its old captain and crew. Jack was preparing to hunt a prize with his own ship, a merchant vessel less than a few days off, carrying textiles and other goods. Nassau had been overflowing with excitement, revelry, and wealth like it had never seen, but the problem of rebuilding the fort weighed on Jack despite it--he glanced up to the crumbling wall, just visible from where he stood on the sand, a reminder of the danger that awaited all of them.

A reminder that Nassau’s future hung by a thread.

But there was nothing he could do until he returned. It was just less than a week…Jack squinted out over the water to where the _Colonial Dawn_ lay anchored, all the crew on board except the men nearby in the longboat waiting for their captain.

Charles strode down the beach towards him and Jack turned, watching as he approached. Jack had promised him he'd give him the chance to see him off--both knew every time might be the last, but both were unwilling to say it aloud.

Charles stopped a few feet from him in the sand, resting his thumbs in his belt, looked Jack over once and then out to the ship. "You'll be careful, won't you? Merchants'll likely expect to be put to the sword after Charlestown. They'll fight like hell."

Jack glanced sideways at him.

"What," Charles murmured, his voice a quiet rasp, "it bears being said."

This was starting to sound too much like a goodbye for Jack’s liking. "I'll see you soon, Charles. Keep everyone in line while I'm away."

"You will be careful, won't you?" Charles repeated.

"Mm."

Charles narrowed his eyes in irritation. "Fuck you, Jack."

Jack bit his lip. Over the low murmur of the surf and the desperate hammering of his own heartbeat, he heard himself say, “I wish you would."

He turned away and boarded the longboat. With a few oar strokes the distance between them grew--Charles had taken a few quick steps after him into the water, and stood watching the shrinking longboat, face unreadable, cast in shadow under his brows. When Jack climbed aboard the _Colonial Dawn,_ he could still see Charles standing there on the beach, and he could no longer see his face, but he could feel his gaze across the water like a lead weight.

Anne came up beside him with a questioning look, her hair fluttering in the climbing wind, and Jack draped his arm around her shoulders. He felt panic rising in his chest like a tidal wave. “Darling,” he whispered, “I’ve just done something incredibly stupid.”

 

The merchants did fight like hell. Their guns couldn’t do much to hurt the larger ship, firing upon them from outside their range, but once boarded each man fought with the ferocity of a cornered animal. It took time to subdue them and transport the cargo across and into the hold. The _Colonial Dawn_ came away from the battle victorious, leaving the remainder of the crew to return to civilization with a message—war had begun.

It would be a few days before they reached Nassau again. Jack would have changed their tack to add a day or two to their journey if it hadn’t been for his competent quartermaster, who would have instantly asked why he was deliberately slowing them down. And so he was forced to confront himself with what he had done.

He wasn't sure which was worse, that Charles be angry or disgusted by his weakness, or that he be amused by it, aware of what Jack wanted, tolerating it, but knowing of it, destroying the easy rapport between them that had existed for so many years. If there had ever been a time to say such a thing, it would have been when it could have been explained away as some rum or opium-induced hallucination, not in _broad fucking daylight--_

Jack paced across the quarterdeck, glancing out at the horizon every few minutes. "'Fuck you Jack' 'I wish you would' Jesus H. _Christ_ ," he muttered.

"Jack, just watching you is making me nervous." Anne had come up behind him and was looking at him with worry. Her hair as pulled back from her face, shining copper in the light from the setting sun.

He stopped and leaned against the rail. "I'm not ready to go back. What if--what if this changes everything?"

Anne shrugged. "Things are bound to change, ain't always bad. You'll know where he stands and go from there."

Jack let out a short laugh. Anne always cut the heart of something, not circling endlessly around it like he did, prying out every possibility until he had exhausted them all. She was clear-headed--loved what she loved, feared what she feared, did what needed to be done without the torture of deliberation. She was like a cliff against which the restless surf continuously pounds. She was true. He brushed a kiss to her forehead, and glanced back to the horizon where Nassau was just becoming visible in the dusk.

He would have to face the repercussions of his actions--he couldn't exactly turn the ship around. With any luck Charles would think it was all some stupid joke.

They arrived as the sun set. The sky was rosy, still streaked with orange that faded into a hazy purple, then deep blue. Jack scanned the beach, straining to see into the shadows, but there was no shape of a man waiting for him--his heart filled with relief and disappointment. As they disembarked they were greeted by men seeking news and relaying the goings-on in Nassau over the last few days. Jack split off from his crew and headed to the brothel.

Once he had closed himself in his room, he leaned against the door and breathed out a deep sigh. Max looked up from his bed--their bed--and raised her brows. She was wearing a robe, hair pouring down over her shoulders, surrounded by documents of shipping inventories which she put aside quickly. "Who is it you're hiding from?" she asked.

Jack opened his mouth to deny it, but thought better of it. "You haven't seen Charles, have you?"

"No." Max frowned.

Jack collapsed into a chair as a sharp knock sounded on the door. Before he could stop her, Max called, "Come in!"

Featherstone appeared in the doorway and turned to Jack. "I thought we were going to meet the other captains at the tavern." He looked at Jack quizzically. "You're not going to bed, are you? It's not even dark yet."

Jack got slowly to his feet and took a deep drink from the bottle of wine by the bed. "Mm. Alright. _Fine_.”

He glanced at Max, who raised her eyebrows, inquisitive.

He followed Featherstone uneasily to the tavern. Half the captains were in port that night. Flint and Silver stood by the bar, looking feral to Jack's eye--Flint with his head shaved, Silver looking about them with a dark glance, beard and hair grown out, eyes hollow as he scanned the room. When he saw Jack he limped towards him, motioning for Flint to join them.

"We were successful in taking our prize," Jack began. "A good cargo, not many casualties, although they fought like the devil. You've made them very afraid, although I'm not sure if that's a curse or a blessing."

Silver weighed his words for a moment. "There have been more hangings in Carolina, hangings that require an answer. Will you and your men remain here for the next week or so? We didn't want to leave Nassau with less than half her usual strength."

Jack glanced between them, and then at Featherstone. "We will, if it's necessary. Are you planning on leaving tonight?"

Silver nodded, glanced at him once more and turned away, favoring his right leg as he limped back to the bar.

"Where's Charles?" Featherstone muttered, and Silver turned back, having overheard.

"Haven't seen him, thought he'd be with you."

Jack smiled uneasily and nodded his thanks, then sat down and poured himself a drink.

"What's wrong with you, Jack?" Featherstone muttered. "You're acting all sorts of strange."

Jack shook his head. "Mm. I'm fine."

Featherstone raised his eyebrows. "You'll let me know if there's anything I can do?"

Jack nodded, and watched him go, disappearing into the gloom presumably to find Idelle. As the night deepened, Jack became more and more agitated. He stopped a few men to ask if they'd seen Charles Vane but was met with shrugs and noncommittal answers. Once he had exhausted all business which gave him a pretext to stay holed up in the tavern, he found himself at the door, fingers drumming idly against the wood. Despite his better judgement, he was beginning to be worried about Charles, and about why he hadn't found him. Would this simply be the end of their friendship, without any parting words, or was there some reason that Charles wasn't there--a reason for concern?

" _Oh, fuck me_ ," he muttered at last, angrily, and headed toward the fort. Night had fallen. The faintest breeze ruffled his hair and coat as he approached the walls of the fort. He bypassed the guards and wound his way up through the passages to Charles' room, steeling himself before he entered, only to find that it was empty, dim light falling from the window onto the stone floor.

He huffed out a breath in the silence. Perhaps Charles didn't want to be found. If he wasn't in the brothel, the tavern...Jack made it out onto the street before he confronted himself with the fact that he had not looked everywhere for Charles: he had not looked in his tent.

The beach was relatively empty, a few stragglers still making their way into town. He passed them unacknowledged, fear momentarily overcome by frustration with himself, with Charles, even with Anne, for bringing out into the light something which he had tried to keep hidden for so long, for making him want it more, when he could not possibly have it.

He heaved a sigh. He could not really be upset with Anne, not for this. Not for her unconditional acceptance, understanding, patience. It was his own fault he was in this mess. Entirely his own. As that particular tension lifted from his shoulders, fear settled back down.

"Been waiting for you."

Jack stopped breathing as the shape of a man stepped from the shadows. Charles stood with his hands by his sides, close to the daggers in his belt.

"If this is about what I said, I can assure you--"

"Come with me," Charles interrupted, and disappeared into his tent. Jack could not decipher anger, a threat, or any other emotion in his voice. He bit his lip in agitation and followed Charles inside.

Charles lit a cheroot, and after a long pause he turned to look at Jack, letting a puff of smoke out into the dark air.

"When I first came to Nassau, I had nothing but this tent, my knives and a pistol. Found a crew, made a name for myself. Lost it all." His eyes flickered over Jack. "When no one seemed to care if I was going to live or die, there was one man who was loyal to me, took care of me, dragged me back here every night when I was intent on getting myself killed."

Charles took a step closer. So this was to be about betrayal...how Jack had earned his trust, been let into his confidence, all the while concealing a shameful secret, permitting their friendship to be built on a lie.

Charles looked away, lowering his shoulders. He pushed his words through gritted teeth as if they were difficult to say, voice quiet and rough in the stillness. "No matter how many times I threw myself in the garbage heap, this man always dragged me out, night after night. I didn't think I deserved it, being saved like that." He was close enough to kiss, his breath smelling strongly of smoke and faintly of liquor. "Didn’t think I was worthy of it. Didn’t think I deserved a love that wasn’t built on betrayal and manipulation. And yet he was loyal to me through all of it.” Charles looked down at Jack's mouth and back up into his eyes. "Then a few days ago he said the strangest thing to me."

"I'm sure he meant it as a joke," Jack offered, but he couldn't muster a smile under Charles' gaze.

"You don't usually look like you're facing your own death after you say something funny, now do you, Jack?"

Charles lifted a hand, held Jack's chin between his thumb and forefinger, and brushed the pad of his calloused thumb over Jack's lip in a gesture Jack had seen performed on Eleanor many times. But Jack didn't believe she had let herself be so taken in by it as he was now, closing his eyes for a moment, opening his mouth is if to speak, but no words forthcoming.

"Why is that?" Charles murmured.

Jack was attempting to come up with a reply when Charles took his mouth forcefully, beard rough against his skin and lips softer than they had any right to be. Charles cupped the back of his head in his hand and Jack kissed him back hard, hands flying to his shoulders, his throat, anywhere he could touch Charles, finally resting in his hair. Charles kissed about as passionately and wildly as Jack would have guessed, with tongue and little gasps for air as he tilted his head to get a better angle on Jack's mouth, eyelashes brushing his cheek.

They broke apart, catching their breath, and Charles grinned at the expression on Jack's face. "Cat got your tongue?"

Jack closed his mouth and narrowed his eyes, stripping off his coat as Charles lifted his own shirt over his head.

Old scars were layered over Charles' chest and abdomen--a body taught with power, demanding that his eyes appreciate every detail, and Jack did. He lay a hand on Charles' pectorals, looking him over without self-consciousness, noticing recent cuts and bruises from training with his crew showing up bright against his skin. Charles held his hand there in his own, a smile curving the edge of his lips.

"Doesn't that hurt?" Jack asked earnestly, feeling Charles' chest rise and fall beneath his hand.

"Maybe I like it rough." Charles smiled as Jack raised his eyebrows.

"Oh come on now," Jack began, and Charles grabbed him by his cravat, pulling him in for a possessive kiss before throwing him down on the bed.

"Take that off," Charles ordered, and Jack's hands flew to his throat, making short work of the cravat and then pulling off his shirt. Charles undid his wide belt, laid his weapons aside and knelt down to undo Jack's belt and trousers.

"Just look what you're capable of when you're not inebriated to the point of near-death."

"Fuck you, Jack," Charles muttered.

"Please do," Jack shot back, and then groaned as Charles pressed down against him. He was already hard, face flushed, and he could feel Charles' cock against him through his trousers.

Charles leaned down to kiss his mouth, his neck, his chest. Jack sat up as Charles pulled away to tug his trousers off. Then Charles took off his own, leaving him completely naked and unashamed of that fact, his eyes never leaving Jack.

Jack had seen him in that state many times before--he was very familiar with every aspect of Charles' body. But never before had he been able to look, to touch.

He leaned in as Charles crouched over him and tangled his hands in Charles' hair. Charles made a noise deep in his throat that seemed to mean Jack should do more of that, so he did, yanking Charles head back by his hair and pushing him down on the bed for one exhilarating moment. Charles grinned and easily turned him onto his back, pinning him by the wrists as he ground hard against him.

Jack let out a breath, half-laugh, half-gasp. "You like being reminded that you can overpower me." A question, an accusation--maybe a request.

"I think you like it too," Charles murmured.

Jack inhaled as Charles wrapped his hand around his cock, lowering himself between Jack's legs and looking up him as he took him into his mouth.

Charles laughed low in his throat as Jack gasped and went silent. He wrapped his arms around Jack’s legs and pulled his hips upward to thrust into his mouth. Jack held onto Charles' hair, his face screwed up, his eyes closed, lips parted. Charles let him fuck his mouth, and Jack could feel the vibrations of his voice in his groans as Jack thrust into him, deeper than Charles had any right to take. He was criminally good with his mouth, with his tongue. Jack felt his entire body shiver with it. Charles sighed like he'd been waiting to do just this for a long time, and that in and of itself was too much to handle.

With effort Jack took a deep breath, dragging his fingers along Charles' scalp. "This is...by far...the best head I've had in a while, good _God,_ " he moaned. After a pause, he whispered, "but I thought I'd asked you to fuck me." He knew he sounded desperate, begging like this, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Charles stopped and pulled back, his wet lips still parted as he looked Jack up and down slowly, his eyes dark with arousal. He wiped his mouth, and reached beside the bed for a bottle of oil and a condom.

"You done this before?" Charles asked, hoarse.

Jack paused for a moment. "With Anne."

A smile spread across Charles’ face. "No shit."

"You?"

"Never fucked a former crew member, if that's what you're asking."

Jack let out a short laugh. "You know that's not what I'm asking."

Charles shrugged. "Yeah. When I was younger...before I came to Nassau." He glanced back at Jack. "I don't like it to get around. That's why you didn't know."

Jack nodded wordlessly. As if Charles needed an explanation for keeping something like this from him, something this intensely private.

Charles leaned close, eyes flickering down to Jack’s mouth and then up again slowly. "I trust you,” he said simply.

Vulnerable, tender, playfully rough but ultimately gentle: none of these were things anyone who knew the name and reputation of Charles Vane would expect of him as a lover, but Jack knew better. He had seen how he gave himself wholly to Eleanor, how he let himself be made vulnerable to her, and how he gave himself wholly to anything he was committed to, whether it was the belief that all men should be free, his loyalty to his partners, or tenderness to a lover.

Jack tried not to whimper at the feeling of Charles' fingers pushing inside him. He rocked forward against Charles, gasping, wondering how long he’d have to wait before Charles replaced those fingers with his cock. Charles’ gaze never left him. He breathed harder as he rubbed oil on himself, devouring Jack with his eyes, as if he couldn't wait a moment longer. With Jack's groan Charles thrust into him, then settled his hands on Jack's hips as he fucked him.

Eleanor had always described Charles Vane as an animal, and while Jack mistrusted her attempt to characterize him as incompatible with civilization, as somehow subhuman or inhuman, he saw that Charles' gaze upon him was unashamed, free of self-consciousness or fear, and how a man like this, who took what he wanted, loved what he wanted, and did it how he wanted would always an enemy to the civilized world, because that world simply held no power over him.

Jack had wanted this so badly, but hadn't admitted how much he'd wanted it until now--Charles looking at him like that, candlelight outlining his musculature, gleaming bright and golden in the darkness, eyes riveted on him. Jack dug his fingers into Charles' scalp until Charles groaned wildly. He took Jack harder, deeper. Jack held his gaze, and couldn't stop himself from letting out a few breathless moans, beginning to pant harder as Charles ground him down on the bed. Charles reached out to hold him by the chin, thumb sliding over his lower lip into his mouth. Jack closed his eyes. He could drown in the ocean of this feeling. Charles pressed heavy kisses between breaths to Jack's chest and neck, and though he wasn't being too rough, Jack was sure they would bruise, and the thought didn't displease him.

Charles pulled him by the chin into another kiss, his hand settled around his throat, so Jack gripped him by the hair and pushed back hard against him. Charles gritted his teeth and fucked him harder, his other hand closing around Jack's cock. Charles fucked like he fought, and the sheer aggression of it was exactly what Jack had wanted. He realized distantly that he couldn't satisfy this need with Anne because what he wanted was _Charles_ , he wanted Charles, and it didn't make his love for Anne burn any less bright. He opened his mouth in a silent gasp, his face screwed up as Charles pressed his mouth back to his neck.

"Is that good, Jack?" Charles said, his voice low and breathless.

Jack was close, unable to speak but to curse, which he did, profusely, and as he came Charles kissed his open mouth again and finished with a deep groan, chest heaving.

Charles looked down at him and cupped his face gently, a smile curving up the corner of his mouth.

After a moment Charles turned away and came back with a cloth, bathed Jack's chest and thighs while he lay there, languid, unable to form a coherent sentence, though not for lack of trying.

Jack simply watched Charles, ran a hand over his beard, looked down at his lips, then pressed a tender kiss there and pulled away slowly. He studied Charles’ face, his nakedness, any tautness in his expression or tension in his powerful shoulders now gone.

Charles lay down next to him, smiling as he looked at Jack through half-lidded eyes. "You thought I was going to slit your throat when I ordered you in here, didn’t you," he murmured after a moment. "Thought I'd have a problem with a little sodomy."

Jack raised an eyebrow and chuckled low in his throat. "Given the reputation you have cultivated for yourself..." He shook his head. "But I do like to be pleasantly surprised.”

Charles idly traced a line with his finger down Jack's thigh. "And Bonny? Do I have to worry about a knife in my back from her?"

"No. You and I...have her blessing, or something like it," Jack finished awkwardly.

Charles narrowed his eyes. "I don't think I'll ever understand the arrangement between the two of you." He propped himself up on his elbow, taking Jack by the chin again, idly running his thumb along Jack's cheek. "She's welcome to join if she'd like." Perhaps misunderstanding the expression on Jack's face, he added, how voice low and guttural, "I have no interest in her, or illusions about what men she allows to touch her. Though I would enjoy watching her fuck you."

Jack opened his mouth to speak, again finding no words, more excited by the possibility than he wanted to admit. He let out a laugh. "You’d like that, would you?”

Charles grunted, and leaned down to press his mouth to Jack’s. The kiss was long and slow. Charles pulled away, lifting his hand to stroke Jack’s hair, gazing at him with open adoration.

“Jack, you should know, you mean more to me than a partner, or a loyal friend to drag me away from the bottle, or a good fuck,” he murmured, and Jack contemplated the absurdity of Charles’ ability to make such a vulgar declaration romantic, as he simultaneously undressed Jack, who was already naked, with his eyes.

“Mm,” Jack murmured, prompting Charles to go on. He lifted a hand to run it through Charles’ hair.

“You care deeply about me, don't you," Charles said simply.

Jack realized that at some point he had stopped breathing, back to that place of fight-or-flight but now for a completely different reason, forced to consider the possibility that Charles wanted to fuck him without it meaning anything. Worse, he knew he would let him--God, he would let him do whatever he wanted--for as long as he wanted this arrangement to continue.

"Of course I care about you," he breathed out. "You've known me long enough to know that." He huffed a sigh and averted his gaze.

Charles took his face firmly in his hand and forced him to look into his eyes. "What, did you think I just wanted to fuck?"

"I don't know," Jack hissed.

Charles narrowed his eyes, still holding Jack's face. "It was never like that with Eleanor. Why would it be different with you?"

"You sleep with whores too, don't you?" Jack shot back, and it came out a little more sharply than he had intended. He tried to pull out of Charles' grasp, but Charles held him down firmly.

"You're not a whore, Jack," Charles growled.

"No, I'm a bit of a prude, if we're being completely honest," Jack said hotly. His expression melted away as he studied Charles' face. "You know I've only ever been with Anne before you.” There was no way in hell he could convince Charles this was just meaningless sex, not when Charles knew he was only the second person Jack had ever taken to bed.

"You love me,” Charles stated simply, and Jack barely breathed. “It is a love I have returned for some time now,” Charles continued, searching Jack’s face--watching his eyes widen with astonishment. Jack kissed Charles' thumb as it brushed his lips, squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment. “I cast it aside once in an attempt to destroy myself…destroy the possibility of addressing the question of whether or not that love could be returned.” Charles looked down at Jack's mouth, then back into his eyes. “I cast it aside when I believed I could win Eleanor back. And yet you were still loyal to me, when I had no right to expect your loyalty."

Jack let out a quiet laugh without any humor, and looked into Charles’ face with worry. “Charles, it kills me to hear you talk about yourself this way,” he said quietly. “‘Loyalty?’” he began, “That’s not quite it, is it? I simply can’t abide the thought that she have her way, and destroy you, making you hers again…” He swallowed, shaking his head.

Charles slowly took Jack's hand and brought it to his chest. “You’d rather I was yours.”

Jack searched his face, heart hammering against his ribs, and whispered fervently, “I would.”

“You love me," Charles repeated, a smile spreading on his lips.

“Yes, thank you for recognizing that fact," Jack breathed out. A warm, giddy feeling rose in his chest. "And forcing me to confess it. God damn it, Charles."

Charles kissed him, long and deep, and when they at last came up for air, he grinned, brushing his finger over Jack's chin. Softly, affectionately, he murmured, "Fuck you, Jack."

 

Jack woke with the sun slanting in through a gap in the tent, Charles' arm draped over him. He blinked and turned slightly, placing his hand luxuriously on the muscular thigh splayed out beside him. Charles groaned and opened his eyes half-way, then pulled him into a rough kiss that became slow and sleepy.

"Jack," Charles rasped, "you got anywhere to be?"

Jack squinted. "Good God, no."

"Good." Charles leaned down to kiss him. His lips moved to Jack's neck, his chest, one hand holding him down by the shoulder as he looked back up into his eyes. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice hoarse. He wrapped one arm around the back of Jack's leg as Jack clenched his hand in his hair.

"Last night, I stopped you..." Jack began, and breathed in suddenly as Charles ground against him.

"You can just tell me you want me to suck your cock," Charles murmured, a faint smile on his lips, and Jack blinked at him, opened his mouth, shook his head. Trust Charles to say something dirty just by virtue of wanting open and honest communication.

"You do, don't you?" Charles purred, moving down between Jack's legs and gazing up at him, looking a little too satisfied with himself.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Didn't realize you were such a tease."

Charles grinned widely.

 

It was midday before Jack made it to the brothel, clothes rumpled, hair a mess, squinting against the sun’s brightness. He felt especially conspicuous arriving like that in a brothel of all places, where everyone knew the look of a man who had been well and thoroughly fucked. Anne was coming down the stairs when he entered, and she looked him over, trying her best to suppress a smile.

"Good morning, darling," he whispered, pressing a short kiss to her forehead.

"Was, wasn't it," she murmured, looking him up and down again. Max came up behind her, her eyes glinting.

"Did you sleep well, Jack?" she asked innocently.

"Yes, thank you," Jack replied, straightening his coat.

 

Charles lay on his back for some time after Jack left, surrounded by the smell of him, unwilling to get up. Without moving, the moment could go on unbroken a little longer. A moment of knowing he was wanted, where the ache in his heart that Eleanor had left there finally stopped hurting.

He could still feel the sensation of Jack’s skin against his as he went over that morning in his mind, new and yet familiar with all that physical intimacy they’d shared over the years. He slowly woke to the fact that he couldn’t remember a time that he had been intimate with Eleanor aside from sex.

Charles snorted a laugh at himself and rubbed his face. He pulled on his trousers and stood, stretching, pushing Eleanor from his mind. He had something better to think about. And he did think about it--remember it--involuntarily as he went over business with his crew. If any of them noticed he was in an uncharacteristically good mood, they said nothing.

In the late afternoon, Charles finally headed towards the brothel. The sun was slanting bright and hot, casting parts of the road in darkness. In the courtyard it was cooler, men scattered about, laughing and drinking with the women.

Charles’ eyes flickered up the staircase and settled on Max, descending, meeting his gaze at the same moment. He approached her slowly and she stopped a bit above him, as they had stood some months ago.

A hint of a smile touched her lips. “I take it you no longer need my advice on breaking Eleanor’s hold over you,” she murmured.

Charles hummed in amusement. “Not much gets past you in this place, does it.” It was strange to not be alarmed that she knew, but then again he had known about her and Bonny. Perhaps it was safe for such knowledge to exist in an ambiguous space where it was not spoken aloud, but simply recognized by those who knew how to look for it.

Max had come from a life not unlike his own, bought and sold, finally found a way past those horrors into a new life. Charles did not know how she had escaped that nightmare, only that she had surely suffered the same abuse he had years ago. They were not alike in much else, except that they now found themselves pulled beyond choice towards either side of this inexplicable partnership, this whole whose two halves were their own.

Max gave him one more backward glance, then turned to go. He saw her take Jack by the arm as he emerged from one of the upstairs rooms and whisper something in his ear. Jack met his gaze across the courtyard for just a moment, murmured a few words to Max, and then approached him, a boyish smile on his face that Charles sensed he was finding hard to suppress.

When Jack was close, Charles cupped the side of his jaw in his hand, but restrained himself from running his thumb down his sideburn to his lips. "Need to talk with you," he murmured.

Jack glanced about them a bit nervously as Charles pulled his hand away. "Mm. Alright. Business or...something else?"

Charles raised an eyebrow. "Both."

He motioned Jack to follow him to one of the empty rooms, and pulled the curtain closed behind them.

"Shouldn't we find some place with a bit more privacy?" Jack whispered.

"No one's going to come in here," Charles replied, and turned to him. "No man in this place is too stupid to fear me."

The dingy lighting of the brothel illuminating Jack's face reminded him of more desperate times they'd shared in some of those same rooms, when Nassau had been part of a different world. But Jack was certainly more finely dressed than he'd ever been then, decked out in one of his embroidered coats with an expensive linen shirt beneath that he had changed into after their morning together, and that was enough to shatter the illusion.

Charles admired him for a moment, then, with a growl, grabbed him by the cravat and pulled him into a kiss. He would never get tired of feeling Jack a little flustered against him, struggling to decide where to put his hands, and finally settling them in Charles' hair, running his fingers down the back of his scalp to his neck, urging the kiss deeper.

Charles pulled back with a grin. "My crew’s heard of a slave ship not far from here. I meant to tell you we'll be leaving in a few days to hunt her. That's all the business I wanted to discuss with you." He sat down on the low bench, back to the wall. "Unless you had anything you needed to discuss with me."

Jack tapped his finger against his thigh, and then smirked at Charles. "No, I don't think I do." After a backwards glance toward the curtain separating them from the goings-on of the brothel, he turned back to Charles and approached him. With luxurious slowness, he draped himself sideways across Charles' lap, one hand snaking around the back of his shoulders, the other fiddling with the necklaces Charles was wearing, brushing the skin beneath. "What did you have in mind?"

Charles kissed Jack hard, then cupped his jaw with his hand, lifting Jack's chin and tugging at the scarf around his neck--he kissed and sucked at his neck hungrily until Jack was making those little gasping sounds again.

A shadow slipped in behind the curtain and Charles pulled back from Jack's neck, but kept his hold on him--Jack immediately tried to get up, swiveling around to see the intruder, but Charles kept him firmly on his lap.

It was Bonny. Charles thought the saw the ghost of a smile across her lips as she took everything in--Jack's rumpled clothes, his legs spread on either side of Charles', Charles' hands holding him down aggressively by the thighs.

"I need 'im after you're done," she muttered, and left.

Jack heaved a sigh. "Jesus _fucking_ Christ," he whispered. Charles tugged him back by the neck to lean against his chest. "I guess it's a thing with us, walking in at an inopportune time on our partner with someone of the same sex."

"How'd you take that the first time?"

Jack shot a look at him. "Not too well, I'm afraid. Felt emasculated. Jealous, obviously. But I knew I was a hypocrite for it, what with pining after you the whole time. I had no right to act like I did."

Charles brushed his lips against Jack's ear. "Sometimes a woman might need a woman to give her the right kind of pleasure. A man might need a man. Nothing wrong with that." He slid his hand up Jack's thigh and felt Jack stiffen against him.

"You think," Jack breathed.

Jack was already hard. Charles opened his trousers and took his cock in his hand, and Jack groaned as he leaned back against him. Charles considered flipping him onto his back and sucking him off, but hesitated. He liked seeing Jack like this, head thrown back, pliant under Charles' hands, grimacing, chest heaving, grinding his ass against Charles with every stroke.

" _Fuck's sake, Charles_ ," Jack breathed. "You're going to make me come all over my clothes."

Charles couldn't help but let out a laugh. That was as clear a request as any. He pushed Jack onto the low bed in the corner of the room and knelt between his legs. He wondered if he could finish simply like this, letting Jack thrust into his mouth as he ground against the bed. Jack gripped his hair at the base of his neck and Charles felt himself get a little weak, and renewed his efforts with a groan.

He pulled up to the head of Jack's cock and then sank back down, enjoying how Jack arched and writhed underneath him. Jack's breathing had become erratic, his hand in Charles' hair clenching as Charles worked him up and down thoroughly. His eyes were screwed shut as he came into Charles' mouth. Charles saw his eyes flicker open, swallowed, and, conscious of Jack's gaze upon him, bent one more time to lick the side of his cock.

Jack cursed profusely and Charles grinned slowly up at him. Jack looked like he was coming apart at the seams, like he was utterly wrecked, and it looked just as good on him with the clothes as it had without.

Charles crouched over him and bent to kiss him. He groaned as Jack pulled him closer by his ass, grinding his cock between Jack's legs.

"Turn over on your back," Jack murmured low in his ear.

Charles lay down on the bed and allowed Jack to assume his position. Jack hastily undid his trousers and wrapped his hand around Charles’ cock.

"Jack," Charles said, quiet and hoarse, "I want you to hold me down."

Jack's eyes widened slightly, and he licked his lower lip. "Then you'll have to let me. I'm not very good at manhandling you, remember?"

"Fuck you," Charles growled, arching into Jack's hand. "I like it when you're rough with me."

"Jesus Christ, Charles," Jack breathed. Trust Jack to get flustered by something like that only moments after getting his cock sucked, although Charles supposed he was used to a lover of few words. It seemed like she just did what she wanted with him with no time wasted on talking. Maybe he should thank her for making it so easy. Flustered was a good look on Jack.

Jack gripped both of Charles' hips, his fingernails biting into Charles' skin as he took Charles' cock into his mouth. Charles involuntarily bucked his hips and Jack pushed him back down hard enough to make him inhale sharply. He glanced up at Charles and moved one hand up to his abdomen to hold him there firmly, as Charles arched against him.

Charles gripped Jack's hand where it was spread against his abs. What Jack lacked in experience he made up for with enthusiasm, making little noises of encouragement as Charles groaned underneath him. The warmth of Jack's mouth, his hands pressing Charles firmly down, and the way he looked doing everything that Charles wanted, so earnest and dedicated to pleasing him--it wasn't long before it was too much, and Charles came with a gasp, chest heaving, still gripping Jack's hand.

Jack recovered quickly, wiped his mouth, and placed his hand back onto Charles' abs, taught beneath his fingers. He ran his fingers up and down over Charles' skin, lips parted as if he was about to speak.

"What is it," Charles asked hoarsely.

Jack bit his lip and glanced up at him.

"Spit it out, Jack." Charles brushed Jack's cheek with the back of his hand, then gently took him by the chin.

There it was again, that look that surely had to be a blush. On occasion, Charles had seen Bonny grab Jack by his cock and lead him off somewhere, presumably to fuck him, and he hadn't blushed at that.

"You look so good like this, Charles," Jack whispered, his voice catching in his throat. Charles raised his eyebrows, watching Jack look him over again. Jack slid his hand up Charles' chest to trace the silver bars on his necklace, then held the side of his throat.

"You can have me like this anytime you want," Charles murmured, and covered Jack's hand with his own.

 

He had planned to depart in a few days, but was delayed by a storm for two more, and before long it was a week before they could finally set sail on calm waters. Charles didn't mind the delay, given that there was nothing much that he could do about it besides lie in bed with Jack as the rain pounded against the windows. The storm would delay their quarry as well, and when it had passed they would resume the hunt.

He lost track of time lying in bed with Jack, listening to him talk about memories from their time together on the _Ranger._ And when they had exhausted all the old stories that made them laugh, Jack leaned in close to his ear and murmured how he loved him, and Charles closed his eyes with a contented hum.

He teased Jack in the morning, making him moan just from kissing him without touching him, and then Charles liked to pick him up and pin him hard against the wall, enjoying how Jack gasped against him and wrapped his legs around Charles’ waist, urging him on until they were both spent, sweating and shaking with exhaustion.

He thought back over the years, when Jack had given him that same adoring look. Maybe if he hadn't thought Jack belonged exclusively to Bonny he would have understood what it meant. But maybe it would have been too risky then, when they sailed the same ship together. The privacy the brothel offered was much better than any privacy that could be found on board a ship, as demonstrated by the time he had found Jack and Bonny fucking behind the galley.

He said a short goodbye to Jack in the morning before he set sail, letting himself into the room where Jack was lying tangled with Bonny. He bent to press a kiss to Jack's mouth. Jack was barely awake, and blinked his eyes open when Charles pulled away.

"See you soon," Jack whispered, and Charles nodded, glancing to Bonny, who cracked one eye open at him in silent acknowledgement.

"Take care of him for me," he murmured to her, and then turned and left the brothel.

It was simple, sharing Jack like this with her, not even needing to discuss what that meant. But so far they had only shared a bed with Jack separately, not together. Charles was a little wary of making her territorial over him when the arrangement between the three of them had only just begun. If she wanted Jack for any reason--to fuck him, to talk to him, simply to lie with him, didn't matter--Charles would make sure she got her way. He knew the history of their partnership too well to make the mistake of disrespecting it, and didn't want her to feel like he was taking Jack from her all at once, or at all. There would be no separating the two of them. If there ever was, it was not something Charles wanted to see.

His ship was underway by mid-morning. Charles stood by the prow as the wind swept the hair back from his face. He was eager to get back to battle, especially eager to take a slave ship. The gold running in Nassau's streets had lulled his men into a slumber, and he was anxious to shake them out of it. Many of them were former slaves. He knew they would take the same pleasure he did in bringing justice to any slave ship that dared to sail in these waters.

They sighted her after a few days. Any ship in pirate waters sighting a pirate vessel and being given chase would understandably be afraid to the point of irrationality, but throwing their cargo overboard was not how Charles expected these men to manifest their fear. Perhaps they thought that winning the cargo without a fight would pacify him. Nothing could be farther from the truth.

After ordering the launch of longboats, Charles turned his gaze back to the ship ahead of him. He gripped the rail, barely feeling his palms digging into the wood as the blood pounded in his ears. Men and women treated like chattel--children too, from the look of the small brown bodies he saw being pulled to safety below. His vision narrowed, white-hot, to the battle ahead.

They boarded, and he hardly heard the clash of swords and explosions of pistols behind him as he stalked his prey. Just as he had thought, the captain was in his quarters, behind a bolted door. After slicing his neck open, Charles wiped the blood from his sword and sheathed it, then wiped his face. The back of his hand came back blood-crimson.

He slowly came out of the haze of battle. As his crew searched the rest of the ship for valuables, he selected two of his men with knowledge of medicine and one who knew a few African tongues and sent them back to the ship to see if they might be of use.

Memories of his life as a slave were a raw wound which, having stopped aching for a time, would still burn at the lightest touch. This ship and its captain had scraped against that wound, and now that nightmare of a life hung like a film over Charles' vision, behind which everything was tinged red.

A slaved was not only robbed of his freedom--from labor, from violence, from fear--he was robbed of humanity, and denied the tools with which to view himself as a man. The doctrine which held that men of the African race were obedient and immune to pain was created to support the idea that they were designed to be slaves for white men, a fabrication now so ingrained in minds throughout the New World that few Englishmen seemed to know it had been created at all.

It was the lack of that dark skin which let Charles move through the world without the visual evidence of having been a slave--his abuse having been founded on the convenience of free labor rather than a broader policy of racial exploitation--but having been such, having been bought and sold alongside those men, the propaganda framed as scientific study of racial difference had never seemed to him to be anything but complete horseshit.

Back aboard the ship, he collapsed in his quarters and took a swig from the closest bottle he could reach. The feeling of the lash, and the fear resulting from it, the ache of overwork compounded with starvation--all of it was returning in a wash of memories half-seen, half-felt.

So, too, was the visit from the taskmaster in the dead of night, when he had learned that his body would be used for whatever purpose his master saw fit, be it labor for his profit or use for his pleasure. Struggling beneath him until he was beaten and bloody had never deterred the action. Each option was worse than the last: fight in the hope that he could avoid degradation, or relent in an attempt to avoid physical pain. But neither outcome was avoidable. He had entered manhood in a world where logic did not apply, where the waking world was a nightmare, and his sense of self was whittled down to the few things that could not be taken from him.

Beginning with a clumsy kiss with another of the slave boys, he had found a way to use his body that was his own. They had taken comfort from each other in secret, understanding that somehow their action was more shameful to civilization than the ownership of slaves. Like everything else in Charles' life, that too had ended in violence.

Somehow, he had escaped with his rage and an animal will for survival, but freedom only came in degrees. He sold his body for a time, not able to make any other sort of money. For the most part it wasn’t so bad--he could choose what he did with these men, suck their cocks instead of letting them fuck him, or let them fuck him only on his terms. But there was a man who chained him by the wrists as he struggled and cursed, left him bound when he was finished with him. He had been unexpectedly gentle afterwards, when Charles had come as he was thrust down against the mattress. It was a long time since he’d been kissed or stroked like that, and it felt so good after everything else he had done to him that Charles stopped resisting, stopped grinding his bruised wrists against the manacles that bound them, let the man kiss him and caress him despite his shame. And then he was left like that, wrists aching, flushed with anger and confusion over the gratefulness he felt at those few tender gestures.

One of the girls at the brothel had found him bound to the bed, untied him, and drawn him a bath. He had left the next morning and traveled until no one could recognize him. In a lawless place, a man skilled with a sword could at least make enough money to eat and put clothes on his back, and could make for himself a life of piracy. Charles had somehow acquired a crew and made a name for himself. It was strange thing to be feared after living in fear for so long, and Charles found that he enjoyed it a little too much.

He had apprenticed himself to Teach and gradually learned to half-trust him and even like him, finding it strange that Teach seemed to regard him with fatherly affection. Having never known his parents, it had begun to heal one of many wounds Charles hadn't even had the time to consider.

But there was another need which had been just as neglected, and so when he met her, swaggering around the beach, a woman unafraid in a man's world and determined to bend it to her will, he had reacted to her like a man parched from thirst in the desert might stumble upon a spring.

So he had been Eleanor's for a time. By turns he was the target of her affection and scorn. But the hope of winning her love and earning her tenderness had always kept him coming back, and the fear beneath it--fear that if cast aside he would be nothing, not deserving of anything but the violence he had been subject to all his life.

Then he had taken two new men onto his crew: one with a mouth on him, handsome in a wiry sort of way, as talkative as his companion was silent, the other red-haired, with a young boyish face hidden behind a hat and a permanent snarl. It turned out that the silent one wasn't a man at all, but could fight like ten men, and the talkative one was a man, but couldn't fight for shit. And before Charles knew, Jack had become one of the few people he could trust without question.

Charles half-smiled to himself, numbed a little with alcohol and the better memories of their early days together as a crew. He wondered when it was that he had first looked at Jack and wanted something he had denied to himself for a reason lying somewhere between fear and shame. Maybe it had been gradual, as their history and trust for each other deepened. It had meant something that he could trust Jack with more than their combined ambitions, but his body as well, carried or dragged to his tent and carefully tended to at a time when he was the most vulnerable.

Charles never wanted to be in bed with a man who could overpower him again. Maybe that was why it excited him to have Jack try, to let him hold him down--to have him do it because Charles asked it, demanded it. And then, in turn, to easily pin Jack against the bed where he could watch the look of pleasure on his face as he thrust inside him, watch him struggle to form words, abandon the attempt, and simply curse.

Charles dozed off, thinking about Jack looking like that. It worked to drive away all the other things swirling in his mind, and it wasn't a half-bad way to fall asleep.

 

The next few days were spent returning to Nassau. Charles found it difficult not to drift into a fog of numbness. He forced himself to go out onto deck to see some of the freedmen exploring the ship, dressed in spare clothes his crew had given them. The knowledge that their torment was over only brought a dull sense of relief, the alleviation of all the abuse Charles knew they had endured. The role his crew had taken in freeing them was no cause for pride for him--they were simply seeing a small bit of justice done in a world otherwise wholly determined to disregard it.

Through bits and pieces of different dialects spoken by one of his crew, and some of their limited English, he made it clear to them that they were freed and that their freedom would not be rescinded, as he and many of his crew had once been slaves and would not buy or sell human chattel.

 

They arrived on Nassau's shores after three days under a hot sun. Charles saw crew and passengers disembarked. They stood in stark contrast to one another--his crew beside the huddled families on the sand, with the look of starvation and abuse about them, fears still not lifted from their shoulders.

Charles headed into town, squinting against the heat. He was hardly listening to the conversations of men around him.

"--finally a way to fix the fort, he says. No other slaver's been spotted in weeks."

Charles stopped, turned in confusion, found the owner of that voice--a man belonging to some crew or another. Charles didn't know him by name. The man sensed Charles looking at him and glanced up.

"I don't suppose before they start repairing the fort you could sell one to me," he murmured, as if asking Charles to lend him a few coins. "One of the girls, if you've got one that's lighter-skinned."

It stung like a blow across the face. All sound faded away again, and Charles could only hear the blood pounding in his ears and he grabbed the man by the throat and threw him down, landing one blow after another to his face until the sight of bright flowing red stopped him.

Hands shaking, breathing in a shallow hiss through his teeth, he stood up slowly, and glanced at the men who had gathered around him. His adversary tried to crawl away, spitting blood, and Charles held him down with his foot. "They are free men and not for sale," he hissed. "The women and children are not to be touched. I will cut off every finger from any hand that does." There it was--the fear in the eyes of men that gave Charles so much power over them, and that power which gave him a rush of dark satisfaction. He bared his teeth, and asked quietly in the silence that had fallen: "Who the fuck said slaves would be used to rebuild the fort?"

The answer came from the ground. "Rackham," the man croaked. "He said it was the only way to--"

Charles gave the man a hard kick to the ribs, his heart sinking in his chest as panic rose to choke him. _Not Jack._

Eleanor had owned slaves and freed slaves. But Charles had held out a hope that what he shared with Jack was different what what he'd shared with Eleanor, that it was more honest, more equal, than that old cycle of betrayal and manipulation. And beyond all of that rose the fear of losing Jack. He had just begun to be used to the new intimacy between them, the love that he had needed so badly, and until now had refused to let himself entertain fears of how it could end.

Charles found him in one of the tavern’s rooms. Jack stood up as Charles slammed open the door, Bonny instinctively reaching for her knives.

"Please. Let me explain--" Jack began.

"What is there to explain? You want to use slaves to rebuild the fort--men who I have already promised their freedom." Charles slammed his hands down on the desk between them. "You kept this from me. _You lied to me_." He searched Jack's face, pulse hammering in his ears. Jack turned to the side, unable to meet his gaze. "You knew I'd capture the slave ship, and her cargo. What the fuck made you think I would just hand them over to you, knowing what you know of me?" His grip on the side of the table tightened as he waited, chest tight with fury, for Jack to explain this all away.

Jack turned slowly to face him. "The three of us stood in this room, you, Flint and I, and we agreed that the fort's restoration was critical to Nassau's security."

"We agreed you would hire men to restore it," Charles growled.

"I tried that!" Jack replied, raising his voice.

"Then you're going to need to try harder!" Charles yelled.

"How?" Jack shouted. "I offered the men exorbitant wages to do the work--you know what they say? You could afford more! We want double that! Alright, double it, it's a deal, fuck it--you know what they say then? You can't tell us what to do, we're free men, we'll work when we please. Would you like to take a guess how _that_ is going? It's five different crews, it's hundreds of men, untold thousands in wages, and I swear to God I think that hole in the wall is bigger now that when we started!"

"I stood between you and him, Jack," Charles whispered. "When Flint was ready to wage war against you over the gold. I protected you. I would have laid down my life for you. I _trusted_ you."

"Why?" Jack asked, looking up into his eyes. "Why? I'll tell you why. Because you and I have been through enough shit for you to know that I would do the same for you, that I have done the same for you and would again without hesitation." He stood, and leaned closer to Charles over the table. "I made a commitment to you, _with_ you, to restore this place, to make it strong again. I see no other way to have it done, and I will have it done, I will move heaven and earth to have it done."

"Not at the expense of everything that matters to me, not at the expense of everything that makes you a man that I respect and love," Charles said, and Jack looked stricken. "You see this as the only way. But you need _my_ permission, _my_ acceptance," he continued, his voice low and dangerous. "And seeing as I won't give it to you, I won't give _them_ to you, you'll have to take them by force. Do you think you can really do that?"  He pulled his shirt over his head, and whipped off his belt, shoving it into Jack's hands. "Go on. Raise the lash against me. If you want to profit from slave labor--if you want to betray me, betray everything important to me. And know that the pain you would inflict on me is nothing compared to how I would feel being made a slaveholder."  

Jack looked at him in anguish. He did not move an inch, barely breathing in the silence. The creak of wood behind Charles reminded him of Bonny's presence.

"So go on, beat me," Charles whispered. Jack searched his face, lips parted in horror. "You can't, can you," Charles said through gritted teeth, and seized back his belt. "I don't know which is worse, the man who enjoys beating a slave, or the man who can't stomach it despite owning slaves, deceiving himself about his own nature."

"Charles," Jack breathed, "I made it clear to all involved they would be treated fairly--"

Charles leaned forward slowly. "I thought _I_ made myself clear." The words were quiet, deadly. "I will not be made a slaveholder."

"And how will we repair the fort?" Jack whispered. "You know I take _no_ pleasure in it, if there were any other way--"

"There _must be_ another way," Charles growled. "There has to be." He turned away. "I do not believe that freed men who have known the abuse of slavery, who have nothing but the clothes on their backs, when offered the chance to work for a _fortune_ in gold would ask you to double the offer. They would probably work for a fraction of that if you offered it to them." He turned back to look at Jack, and said forcefully, "But you _will_ offer them the same wages you offered the other men, and you will not raise this idea with me again."

He strode from the room, fastening his belt around his waist. By the time he had made it to the fort, sweat was running down his bare chest. The rubble from the hole in the fort was strewn beside the wall, and next to it, a wooden stockade, newly built, tools and wood planks set beside it. Charles seized an axe and hewed the door until the wood splintered and broke apart. Chest heaving, he lifted the axe again and again, hacking at the pen designed to hold human beings like livestock, prying the beams apart with his bare hands until his back ached.

He wound his way to his tent in a daze, barely noticing the men who hastily got out of his way. He collapsed on his bed. Mercifully there was a bottle of wine beside it, so he took a long drink and fell into a deep sleep. Not even the hot afternoon sun lancing into the tent woke him.

 

The next morning, he was startled awake by the voice of one of his crew outside, informing him that the able-bodied men among the freed slaves had been offered wages to repair the fort, and that they would begin work shortly. Charles dressed himself, tied back his hair, and stepped out into the warm morning sunlight.

Although the sight of dark bodies lifting heavy tools made his chest tighten at first out of habit, a few of the men waved to him as he passed, then went back to their work. He saw a mother with her little girl watching them, the girl playing with a gold coin, enraptured by its bright luster.

Jack was in the fort, sitting on one of the chests of gold. He glanced up as Charles entered, his breath catching in his throat.

"I see that you followed my orders," Charles murmured. He sat beside Jack, glanced at him, then away. "And you gave their families a payment in advance to prove your good will and honesty."

Jack swallowed. "I don't think honesty's the best word," he replied evenly.

Charles let out a humorless laugh.

"Charles," Jack began, then stopped. Charles could feel Jack's eyes on him. Jack let out a breath and began again quietly. "I knew this would be difficult for you, so I kept it from you. Please know that I meant no slight by it, no lack of respect. Quite the opposite." He fell silent, let out a shaky breath. "It was a mistake. I should never have gone behind your back like that. I feel sickened by how I acted. I don't _ever_ want to hurt you like that again," he whispered.

"The last few days at sea were a nightmare," Charles murmured without looking at him. "Always is, hunting a slave ship. I thought about you often, missed you, missed being with you. Even now, despite my anger, when I look at you, all I want to do is hold you in my arms," he whispered hoarsely.

"You can have that if you want it," Jack said slowly. "I will do whatever it takes to regain your trust and your forgiveness."

Charles considered his words for a moment. "I know that you took no pleasure in this," he said. "If you did, I'd have killed you the moment you suggested it. If you did, you'd never have been on my crew years ago. You and I would never have..." He shook his head and fell silent, looking out at the bright sunlight filtering in through the door. He could just make out the sound of Jack's breathing as he waited beside him.

"You think if you refrain from beating them it’s any better," he murmured after a while. "Even if you believe you treat them well. It's unnatural to hold another man as property, to deprive him of basic liberty. It isn't the violence. It isn't the labor, or the hunger, or the heat, or the chains." He shook his head. "You know what those men fear—it’s the unknown. The lash that comes from nowhere for reasons never explained. A visit from the taskmaster in the dead of night." He inhaled slowly. "But I remember that fear. Right now I feel it returning."

"In...the dead of night?" Jack asked quietly, barely a breath.

Charles stood, turning away from Jack. It would be easier if he didn't have to look at him, if he just started speaking and let everything else follow. He didn't know why, when Jack had just hurt him so badly he felt the need to make himself more vulnerable in front of him, open up the possibility of being hurt again. Perhaps it was simply to get all the pain over with, making it hurt all at once, then hope that it would stop hurting.

"There was one night," Charles began, "when he found me lying with another of the boys my age. It wasn't sex, just lying together, taking comfort in each other’s arms." Now that he had started it was easier, although he felt strangely as if he were outside his own body, hearing his voice say words he never thought he would say aloud to a soul.

"Looking at us he must've known we were lovers. He beat me until I was bloody, took me to his tent and punished me severely after that." Charles heaved a sigh. "He meant to teach me that my body was his to do with as he pleased, and that my pleasure had nothing to do with it. So I learned that being with a man was either the cause for violence or violence in itself."

"Jesus Christ, Charles," Jack whispered. Charles heard him stand and move closer, felt his hand take his shoulder gently, but couldn't help but flinch at the touch even though he knew it was coming.

"I don't need your sympathy," Charles murmured, voice rough, "it's like a scar. Won't go away. I've lived with it as best I can."

Jack took a shallow breath, feeling the bottom of his stomach drop away with nausea worse than seasickness. "Did this go on, beyond that night?"

"What do you think," Charles murmured hoarsely.

"Is the man dead?" Jack asked, and looked at Charles again.

He was staring straight ahead. A smile flickered over his face. "He's dead." After a moment he shrugged, pulling away from Jack. "It's not uncommon, using slaves like that. Usually it's done to women. Point is, every slave on that ship, knowing what he or she knows about slaveholders, was waiting for that blow to fall one way or another. When I promised them their freedom, that fear was only partly lifted. There will always be men looking to abuse them because of the color of their skin, whether they're slaves or not. Take their daughters and sons, do unspeakable things to them." He breathed out slowly, feeling that cold bloodlust returning. "I had to make an example of one of the men because of it."

Jack narrowed his eyes. "One of your crew?"

"No, don't know whose crew he was from. Wanted to purchase one of the girls from me. I didn't like his look. No idea if that's how he meant it. Doesn't really matter if that's how he meant it."

"Charles, what did you do to him?" Jack asked quietly.

Charles let out a laugh. "He's still alive if that's what you're asking. He won't ask again. Violence is the only deterrent those men understand. Anything else is expecting too much from them." He turned away, letting out a deep breath. He could feel Jack watching him. "But violence only deters so much. Used to wonder if I didn't do more, maybe I could've avoided it. Maybe if I'd fought him harder, something.”

"Charles--" Jack whispered in horror.

"He used me, like any other tool in his possession. Then, when I sold my body to men to make a little money, I let them use me." So now Jack knew that part of his past, too. Distantly, Charles felt some sort of vague relief. "I wonder if it's why I couldn't see that Eleanor was using me for sex every time we fucked. Or maybe I was so desperate to be loved by her that I just didn't care." He glanced at Jack, who was looking at him in anguish. "I think you're the first person who's ever truly loved me. Makes me feel like I don't deserve all the violence and abuse, that instead I should deserve your honesty and loyalty.” He looked hard at Jack.

Jack took a step closer, but didn't touch him, searching Charles' face. "And I want to give those things to you. I _will_ give those things to you. If you’ll allow me to try to earn back your trust," he whispered. "But how could you ever think you deserved any of what happened? None of it was your fault, not in the slightest. I broke your trust, but God damn it, you _must_ _trust me in this_."

Charles breathed out a short sigh, looking Jack up and down. After a moment, he turned away, and muttered, "Come with me."

He headed out into the bright sunlight, and could feel Jack following him. Jack remained silent, but Charles could tell he wanted to ask questions, or reassure him somehow with a touch, but he couldn't as they wended their way through Nassau town, heading for the brothel. Charles glanced at him as they entered the courtyard. Jack studied him carefully but continued to follow him without question up to their room.

Charles closed the door, then turned to look at Jack. He approached him and began pulling off his coat, but Jack grabbed him by the wrist.

"I don't think that's a good idea," he hissed.

Charles averted his eyes, finished pulling Jack out of his coat. "It's not like that," he growled. "Come here." He slung his swordbelt onto the table in the corner, kicked off his boots and lay down on the bed.

Jack quickly took the spot by his side. He extended a hand, gently took Charles' shoulder and squeezed it, then leaned down and pressed his face into the crook of Charles' neck, pressing a small kiss to his cheek, then his neck. Charles turned into him, wrapping his arms around Jack's waist, absentmindedly running his fingertips over the texture of his linen shirt. Jack's hands lifted to his back, and Charles could feel the location of each scar there, not through pain but through memory, resounding through the forefront of his mind. He let out a short breath and focused on the feeling of Jack in his arms--the scratch of his stubble against Charles' neck, his gentle hands stroking and massaging Charles' back.

"Darling," Jack began. His voice broke, barely a whisper, and Charles pulled back slightly to look at him.

"What?" He squinted at Jack in confusion. Eleanor had never called him anything approaching a term like that.

Jack either didn't understand his confusion or chose to ignore it. "Was this the first time you've confessed this to someone?"

"Yeah," Charles murmured. "Why?"

Jack lay his head on the pillow, and looked into Charles' eyes. "It occurred to me the only person you may have told before me was Eleanor. But you didn't."

"Wouldn't trust her with that," Charles said. "Didn't want her to know. Already felt too vulnerable with her." He stopped, raised a hand to Jack's cheek, brushed his thumb down his sideburn to his chin.

"You can be vulnerable with me, darling," Jack whispered as he studied Charles' face.

Charles felt a smile curve up the corner of his lips. "So it's 'darling' now."

"What about it," Jack asked quietly.

Charles rested his forehead against Jack's, slowly pressed his mouth against Jack's lips. Jack was a little startled, lifted a hand to hold the side of his face, brushing the side of his beard as he pulled away.

"I'm so sorry I hurt you," Jack whispered. "And after what I've done, I don't know why you'd tell me any of this, _trust_ me with this, or even let me hold you." Charles didn't reply, just looked at Jack and let out a breath. "But I'll do whatever I can--whatever you'll let me, to take care of you."

They lay together well on into the afternoon, as the light shifted against the curtains. Jack felt Charles fall asleep against him, listened to his quiet breathing, and closed his eyes. Charles’ body in his arms was lax and heavy, powerful shoulders rising and falling slowly, one leg nestled between Jack's, occasionally mumbling in his sleep, keeping a tight grasp on Jack throughout. Jack blinked hard to keep back the sting of tears. He bit his lip, and cradled the back of Charles' head, heard the quiet groan from Charles' mouth as he shifted against him.

Anne came in later, and Jack carefully extricated himself from Charles without waking him, explained to Anne that he needed to be with Charles that night, pressed a kiss to her forehead. She nodded her understanding and squeezed his hand, then left with one more backward glance at Charles.

Jack climbed back into bed and sighed as Charles squeezed him closer. He had awakened with Anne’s departure, and nuzzled Jack's neck, still half-asleep.

"She need you tonight?" he asked, voice hoarse.

Jack whispered, “She'll be with Max. Please...I want to stay with you.”

Charles sat up with a grunt.

Jack had some food brought up to them along with a bottle of wine. Once Charles had eaten something, Jack drew him a bath, and sat beside the tub as Charles settled into the hot water. Jack sought his hand and squeezed it in his own, brushing his fingertip over Charles' wrist, his palm. He brought Charles' hand to his mouth and kissed it softly.

"Darling, is there anything I can do?" he asked quietly. “Would you rather I left you alone?”

Charles stroked his cheek. "No, Jack, I wouldn't like that at all." 

 

The repairs on the fort continued at a steady pace. Nassau was still flowing with gold, with no news yet of any English or Spanish retribution. Charles' anger had dissipated, seeing the men earning fortunes for their work. It was a relief for Jack, who winced as he remembered Charles bare-chested, flushed with anger, asking Jack to raise a lash to him rather than return the men he had freed to slavery.

In the past, Jack had often wondered what abuse Charles had taken in his years as a slave, and now, knowing of it, or at least some part of it, he could see with terrible clarity that Charles' self-worth had been damaged by what had happened to him, left him with too high a tolerance for pain, and too low a standard for his own treatment. He thought of those nights when he was Charles' quartermaster. Charles had tried to drown a kind of pain he had never even been able to speak aloud, had gone back to Eleanor again and again hoping to find a love to offset that pain, and been unable to find it.

Jack felt tears threatening behind his eyelids, and wondered bitterly if Charles had forgiven him too quickly, too easily, or if forgiveness was too selfish a concept altogether--seeking exoneration for his own benefit rather than simply knowing that he had acted wrongly, and that maybe there would be no making it right other than learning that some principles demanded that no room be left for compromise.

He watched Charles across the brothel courtyard murmuring something to Max and then grinning, felt his own mouth curve up slightly in an instinctive response without any real pleasure.

Anne sat down beside him, glanced at him and followed his gaze across the courtyard. She sighed, and got that little expression Jack noticed she only made around Max.

He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You adore her, don't you," he murmured with a smile, this time heartfelt.

Anne gave him a smile in response, small but filled with happiness. After a moment she added, "You adore him."

Jack bit his lip, nodded.

"What is it?" Anne asked quietly. "Why do you look like that?

Jack opened his mouth, closed it, shook his head. "Charles told me..." he stopped, wondering if he should continue.

Anne's brow furrowed. "Is this about when he was a slave?" Jack nodded, not trusting himself to speak. "You know he was beaten, you've seen his scars." Anne murmured. "What, it was something else?" she asked, voice lowered. "Something you don't want to bring up with me, because you're afraid it might hurt me? _Shit_ ," she hissed.

"I didn't want to upset you," Jack managed.

"Jack," Anne murmured, "you can talk to me, you know that, right?"

"I can't do anything to help him," Jack hissed, "for heaven's sake." He looked at Anne helplessly as he felt his chest tighten. "I'm completely powerless," he whispered, opening his mouth to continue, then shaking his head and falling silent. He wanted to say, _men are beasts. I wish I could kill your husband again and again and again--_

"That ain't true," Anne murmured. "You don't think it's good for someone who's been through something like that to be loved? Probably the only thing that will help."

Jack glanced at her, and lifted a hand to stroke her hair tenderly. Since they had been young, he had been the only person for her, and Jack knew part of that was wrapped up in what had happened to her, in that horrible way that traumas have of insinuating themselves into the most intimate fears and desires. She had needed someone who gave her complete control so that she could take back ownership of her body, knowing that she was safe and that she could find her own pleasure with him.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead again.

 

If anything, Charles seemed more eager for Jack's affection than before. It was a relief to still be able to kiss him and hold him, make him used to having that comfort and tenderness that he so desperately needed and deserved. Jack was so glad he was in this place with Charles now where he could be of use, not like back in the fort on that day that Charles had wondered aloud, almost as an aside, if he was worthy of love, and Jack had been unable to fully answer him.

They got used to those slow lazy mornings. Charles usually slept so deeply it seemed like he had passed out, and woke up slowly, hands starting to wander over Jack's shoulders, across his cheek to his mouth. And then there were slow kisses, growing deeper and more desperate as they woke up. Charles seemed to like lying with him just as much as he liked everything else they did in bed together. This was what Jack's fantasies were made of: wrapping his arms around Charles and feeling him make a little noise of satisfaction against him.

In the course of the following week's progress, Charles ensured that the men working on the fort were steadily receiving the gold they had earned from their work. Able to buy food in town, and drink with the other men in the tavern in the evening, they went home to be with their families at night and were free to do as they pleased in every respect.

"And yet the other men still refer to them as slaves," Charles murmured, "when they are slaves no longer. I've made damn sure that they'll make a fortune by the end of this, like any other laborers would have. They are as free as men can be in Nassau. And yet they are still called slaves for the color of their skin. Once a slave, always a slave--that's the way men think here. They have no other language to refer to them by." He let out breath, downed a gulp of wine, and hissed, "pisses me off.”

Jack placed his hand on Charles' thigh under the table where they sat in the brothel courtyard. "Is there anything I can do, Charles? Perhaps publicly humiliate some of these men for you?" Charles grinned and shook his head. "Perhaps you'd rather I provided myself as a distraction."

This earned Jack a slow but thorough looking-over from Charles. "What sort of distraction?"

"Whatever you'd like," Jack murmured earnestly, keeping his voice low.

Charles stood and grabbed Jack by the shoulder, dragging him up the stairs bodily. He closed their door and turned to Jack, smiling as he pulled his shirt over his head. Jack was already out of his coat, pulling off his cravat by the time Charles impatiently lifted his shirt over his head.

Jack dropped to his knees in front of Charles, and Charles ran a hand through his hair as Jack undid his trousers.

"You seem awfully ready to do this," Charles murmured with the hint of a smile.

Jack let out a laugh.

Charles was hard, and groaned as Jack's lips touched the head of his cock. He held the back of Jack's head as Jack took him deep into his mouth.

"That's good, Jack," he breathed, chest heaving as he squeezed the back of Jack's neck. Jack cupped Charles’ ass and urged him to thrust deeper into his mouth. Charles gripped him by the hair, and Jack looked up, meeting his eyes and feeling his face grow hot as Charles studied him and slowly fucked his mouth.

Jack pulled back to heave a deep breath, and Charles tugged him abruptly backwards toward the bed, pausing to pull his trousers all the way off as Jack fumbled his way out of his. He bent again between Charles' legs, and opened his mouth for Charles again, bracing his hands against the bed. He could feel that Charles wanted to be in full control this time, and maybe be a little rough with him, and he didn’t mind. If anything it made him more aroused. After all, he had always liked it when Anne manhandled him. Charles was careful not to choke him, and Jack was grateful for that, since he was not nearly as good at this as Charles was.

The door opened suddenly and Jack pulled back as quick as he could, wiping his mouth, chest heaving—it was Anne. Her eyes flickered over Jack to Charles, back to Jack, breathless, lips parted, still positioned between Charles’ legs.

Jack straightened and turned to her. This was no time to blush at her seeing him in such a state, given the things they'd done together. "Darling," he whispered urgently, "you're welcome to join if you'd like, but please either come in or go out before someone sees us."

Anne stood still for a moment. Then, slowly, she took a step forward, swinging the door shut behind her with her foot.

Jack held his breath as she began undressing, taking off her coat first, laying her hat on top of it, moving down to her boots and trousers, leaving on only her long shirt hanging past her hips.

"He won't touch you," Jack whispered.

He felt Charles shift behind him, thighs brushing against his back. "You have my word," Charles murmured.

Anne's eyes flickered up at Charles, then back to Jack. She climbed onto the bed. Jack moved backwards to make room for her, feeling Charles pull him back tightly against his chest, his cock hard against Jack's lower back as he held him by the shoulder, the other hand gripping the side of Jack's waist.

Anne straddled Jack’s hips, slipped one hand beneath the hem of her shirt and began fingering herself, using the other to guide Jack's hand between her legs. She was already wet, and Jack wondered if she had simply liked seeing him with his mouth around Charles' cock, or if she had already been planning to fuck him when she opened the door.

He inhaled sharply as she sank down on him, hot and wet, and began to move against him. Charles kept his hands above Jack's waist at a respectful distance from her, as Anne's legs brushed against them both as she ground down on top of Jack.

Anne braced her hands on his chest. “Pin his hands,” she murmured, and Jack felt Charles take him by the wrists, lift his hands above his head and hold him there in a vice.

When Anne was forceful like that, it did something to Jack he couldn't quite express. Perhaps it was that he liked knowing that she wanted him, and that she’d take what she wanted. He itched for every bit of affection from her, be it soft caresses or the roughness of her shoving him around how she wanted. Having the two of them agree on what they’d do to him--this possessiveness they could share without jealousy--just about put him over the edge.

“Wait,” Charles said, and Anne stilled, Jack arched and breathless beneath her. “I want to see you fuck him.”

Anne’s lips parted just a fraction in surprise. Given that she was already fucking him, Jack guessed that she had understood perfectly what kind of fucking Charles meant, and thought he saw a flicker of a smile on her face.

“Darling,” Jack managed, catching her gaze, “I want you to do whatever you want. You could finish just like this if you’d prefer.” He wanted to impress upon her that she still had complete control, that she should do just as she wished.

She looked him over, her lips still parted, a little breathless, then climbed off his lap. Charles let go of Jack’s wrists, and Jack immediately moved towards her to take care of her first, if she really wanted to go through with this. She lay down on her back, and Jack cupped her cheek with his hand, studying her face.

“So you told 'im about that, did you?” She curled her lip at him. It was a look that meant displeasure if directed at anyone else, but when given to him it meant something else entirely--in a teasing sort of way almost demeaning, and fond.

Jack felt his face grow hot. “I...yes. Is this what you want?” he whispered.

By way of a yes, she looked him over and said, “‘nough talking.”

Yes--there were better ways to use his mouth, as they were both aware. Anne intertwined her fingers with his as he sank down between her legs.

She was hot and wet against his mouth, her other hand gripping his hair. She massaged the back of his head to the slow rhythm she wanted. Jack closed his eyes and licked and sucked and kissed her, felt her arch against him and clench his hand in hers. He took his time, hearing her little sighs of satisfaction. The sounds she made reminded him that he was hard, achingly so, and he moaned quietly as he opened his mouth against her and tasted her with his tongue. He wrapped his arm under her leg as he felt Charles place a hand on his back, moving against him as he urged her closer and closer.

She could direct him with the smallest touch, made easy by years of practice. She was so wet under his tongue, and Jack knew she was close. She came clenching his hand hard, and Jack continued, riding her through the waves of her orgasm, chasing down every last bit of pleasure. It made him delirious with the taste and smell of her.

He pulled back to look up at her as she caught her breath, and sat up slowly between her legs, squeezing her hand gently. She opened her eyes, and Jack searched her face, seeking any other little indication of what she wanted or needed.

After a moment she sat up, squeezed his hand, and then slipped off the side of the bed.

Jack felt Charles take him by the back of the neck. He turned, and Charles pulled him closer, demanding, positioning Jack over him. He ground Jack down against his own cock by his hips as Jack braced himself against the back of the bed.

“I want to see her with her cock inside you,” Charles murmured, his voice low and rough in his throat, and Jack felt his face grow hot as he arched against him, Charles’ voice seeming to reverberate through him.

“What else do you want?” he breathed. Charles was so hard against him. Jack gritted his teeth, then exhaled as Charles pulled him closer by his ass.

“I want to see her do what she likes with you,” Charles said in his ear. “That’s the thing, isn’t it? You like whatever she does to you.” Jack opened his mouth to speak but could only heave a breath as Charles wrapped his hand around them both. “I want to see just how ruined she makes you,” Charles growled. “I want to see you come with my fingers in your mouth. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Jack?”

Jack struggled to open his eyes. He glanced down at Charles’ mouth and let his lips part with a groan. Charles understood the message, and pushed his thumb against Jack’s tongue. He watched Jack moan against him, and then took Jack’s mouth with his own, hand holding him by the side of the neck.

Jack felt the bed dip down behind him, and Anne place her hand on the small of his back. He broke away from Charles without turning, and she slid her hand up his spine to squeeze his shoulder, feeling him respond to the touch.

“Jack?” she murmured—a question if he was ready. He arched under her hand as he tried to catch his breath.

"Darling," he whispered.

Her hand was gone, and he heard the sound of oil being rubbed on the wooden cock. Then her hand was on his hip as her fingers pressed inside him. Jack opened his mouth in a silent gasp, his eyes falling closed, and felt Charles cup the side of his face. Anne was gentle, but wasted no time, knowing just how long it took him to be ready for her. She could feel it in the way he responded to her, how quickly his breaths came, how submissive he became under her direction.

Anne's fingers were gone, and Jack could barely wait any more, he was so filled with longing.

She thrust her wooden cock inside him, making a small noise of exertion, and Jack bowed his head against Charles’ shoulder with a groan. She fucked him with deep, slow thrusts, grinding him down against Charles’ cock. Jack arched back into her. He didn’t know how long he’d last, strung out like this between the two of them, Anne holding him by the hips, Charles gripping the side of his neck, his other hand stroking Jack’s cock against his own.

"He's good at taking it, ain't he?" Anne muttered. Charles hummed a laugh that became a noise of pure hunger as Anne ground Jack down on top of him.

Jack opened his eyes with difficulty to look at Charles, and cursed as Anne pushed his knees wider. God, he loved letting her have him, and being completely at her mercy.

It had been Anne who had first suggested this, years ago. She must have sensed that there was something he wanted but was unwilling to ask for, and when she asked him point-blank if he wanted it he couldn’t for the life of him say no. Although he knew she did it partly for him, he was also aware that there was something she got out of it purely for herself, and the thought pleased him more than he wanted to admit. Jack didn't know if it was as simple as control fulfilling some basic need, but there was something of that in her being the one to penetrate him, knowing how willingly he would submit to her.

He was gasping, no longer able to push back against her. He could do nothing but let her dictate the pace, and she fucked him hard, moving one hand to hold the back of his neck. He opened his mouth with a groan, and felt Charles slide his thumb over his bottom lip into his mouth and hold him there. Through half-lids he watched Charles watching him, looking past him to Anne’s slender form pinning him down, then back to his eyes, and his mouth parted around Charles’ fingers. They were both so good to him, sharing him like this. Jack whimpered helplessly, not sure how much longer he could hold on.

Jack heard Anne's breath become shorter and felt her grip become tighter. She rocked her hips forward and breathed hard as her second climax crashed over her. "Fuck," she breathed out. Then, after a moment she murmured, “You can come now, Jack."

Anne ground him down against Charles once more and he spilled across Charles’ chest, flecking Charles’ throat and mouth.

Anne withdrew, and then he felt her body press to his again, hands traveling along his shoulders and down his back, silently asking if he was alright. She pressed a damp cloth to his chest as he gasped beneath her. Then her hand on the back of his neck urged his head down to Charles’ cock. Jack moaned as they both positioned him how they wanted him, and held him in place as Charles thrust deep into his mouth. Anne's hand remained on his neck, pressing him down. She petted his hair, answering any questions about whether or not she was getting something out of this, telling Jack that he was pleasing them both. He took Charles' cock deeper into his throat as she moved him in a rhythm to match Charles' thrusts. Charles came quickly down Jack’s throat, and Jack swallowed, tried to catch his breath.

As if they’d reached some silent agreement, they shifted him between them so that he as lying on his side, Charles curved behind and Anne in front. Jack pressed a kiss to her forehead and studied her face—she looked a little breathless, but otherwise unruffled, offering him just the hint of a small satisfied smile. He watched as she took Charles’ hand and brought it to rest around his waist. Charles squeezed him closer, making a contented sound low in his throat against the back of Jack’s neck. Anne rested her head on his shoulder, and he closed his arms around her.

They fell asleep that way, and when Jack woke, Charles was still holding him firmly with one arm, Anne wrapped in his embrace.

She felt him stirring and cracked her eyes open, blinked up at him. Charles groaned. His beard brushed against the back of Jack’s neck as he pressed a sleepy, heavy kiss there.

  

Nassau's crews continued to come and go, bringing back cargo and news of hangings in the Carolinas, as well as Flint’s violent reprisals against them. With the warmth and easy weather, and the merriment of the crews in town, it seemed that the threat of violence was worlds away.

It was a warm afternoon when Max came into the room in the brothel where Jack was sitting and dropped a sack of gold on the table. He looked up at her with confusion as she slowly extended one hand to place a single black pearl beside it.

“These are identical. Three hundred and fifty pieces on both sides, yet one I can fit in the palm of my hand and the other is currently occupying the entirety of the vault beneath your fort,” she began. “Which of the two would you rather have in your possession the day Spain or England arrives and sets its eyes on conquering that fort?”

Jack bit his lip. “Not the gold.” He glanced up at her. “So I suppose what we ought to do is ensure that the fort is not conquerable, which, as good fortune would have it, is exactly what I’m doing.”

Max looked at him hard. “You cannot truly believe that is possible. You know as well as I do that so long as that gold is sitting in the belly of that fort, we are doubly exposed. Losing the fort _guarantees the loss of the gold._ ”

Jack narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me…what are you suggesting?”

“That we exchange it--as much of it as possible. Find partners, and trade for commodities far easier to move and to protect. If Nassau falls we will have something to set aside to ensure our futures.”

“‘Our’ who?” Jack asked slowly.

Max clenched her hands in the fabric of her dress. “Mine…Anne's…”

Jack stood and paced to the window, closed his eyes. “Is that how it is then?” he asked, a bit more sharply than he had intended. All his old fears of losing Anne were rising again, constricting his chest, fears that he had thought he had long lain to rest since he had begun trusting Max.

“Jack—” Max began.

“You’re saying that if Nassau should fall, and we barely managed to escape with our lives, that you and Anne would leave together, that it would be the end--” Jack’s voice caught in his throat, and he fell silent.

Max’s voice was quiet in the silence. “Of course she would choose you.”

Jack turned quickly to look at her. Max’s lips trembled just slightly. “The fort is _going to fall_ ,” she whispered. “Tomorrow, next week, someday. It will pain her to leave me behind…what we have shared these past few months…it will be very hard. But you…without you, there is no her.” She took a deep breath, then continued. “I am here in part to secure my own future. I will not apologize for that. That is not why I’m asking you to cooperate with me. I am asking because there is one thing we share. We both love her.” Jack could see that she was on the verge of tears, fighting to keep her composure. “Let us make sure her future at least is secure.”

Jack took a quick step towards Max and pulled her into his arms. She stiffened at first in surprise, then wrapped her arms around him and began to cry, her shoulders trembling. Jack held the back of her head to his chest and buried his face in her hair as she sobbed.

He simply held her, stroked her back gently as she began to catch her breath, her face still buried against him. Jack brushed his hands over her shoulders slowly.

"Explain to me why it can’t remain the three of us," Jack whispered suddenly. "It's selfish, I know, how afraid I am of losing her." He pulled back slightly, looking at Max's downcast face. "But separating her from you...I can't bear to do that to her either, and she would never forgive me."

Max shook her head, her lips trembling. "I must remain in Nassau. And if Nassau falls, she must flee. Neither of us are choosing this for her. It simply must be this way."

"Why couldn't you come with us?" Jack whispered. "You know we would protect you."

Max shook her head. "I am no pirate!” she whispered fervently. “I do not want to spend the rest of my life _running_ for my _life_. I am tired of it. I am tired of the violence." She pressed her face to his chest again as tears spilled down her cheeks.

Jack held her to him and stroked her hair. "And if we do everything in our power to repel the British, and Nassau does not fall?" he asked quietly.

Max did not reply, but wrapped her arms more tightly about him.

They had rarely touched, except on accident in those few times when they shared a bed with Anne--and that one time she had put her fingers in his mouth, but Jack knew that had been more of a power play than anything else. At most they had touched with an affectionate hand on the shoulder or arm. Jack kept his arm around her, at a loss for words, pressed a kiss to her forehead and smoothed back her curls.

He held her until she had stopped crying, then kissed her forehead again, reluctant to let her go. It was hard to put into words how he felt about Max—what word he would use to describe his feelings towards a woman who had given Anne so much happiness, who had cared for and protected her when he could not. He trusted her absolutely—there was no question. He felt gratitude towards her. But those words weren’t enough for what they shared, because they shared was Anne, and she was his entire world.

Love it was, then, of a strange sort.

"Will you be alright?" he asked her quietly, wondering if anyone in her position could be remotely alright.

"Let me tell Anne," she murmured, and he nodded.

"Of course.” He took her hand and squeezed it, then slowly let her go.

She glanced back at him from the door, drying the wetness from her cheeks. Jack watched her descend the stairs into the courtyard, his heart as heavy as a stone.

 

Jack delayed leaving the brothel, messing around with unfinished business until he couldn't avoid the issue any longer. The sun was setting as he crossed the beach. He found Charles with his crew, facing off against one man as the rest cheered and yelled around them. Charles threw his opponent down in the sand and grinned as the man yielded the match.

He caught sight of Jack and walked over, pulling on his long coat over his tunic. They fell into step beside each other as they wended their way down the beach, out of the earshot of the crews. The setting sun was warm on the sand, a slight breeze bringing in the scent of the ocean and the sound of the surf.

Jack glanced at Charles out of the corner of his eye.

“You’re making me nervous, Jack,” Charles muttered. “What is it?”

Jack gathered himself and turned to face him. “What do you suppose the future holds for us?” he asked quietly.

Charles hung his thumbs in his belt and looked him over. “Victory in battle, if all goes according to our plan. A strong Nassau. A prosperous Nassau. The continuation of our partnership.” His eyes flickered over Jack’s face. “Why?”

Jack glanced away, gazing over the sea where the sun was beginning to disappear, low on the horizon. “Things never go according to plan though, do they.”

Charles moved closer to him, conscious that they were still in view of other men on the beach. “What are you suggesting?” he murmured.

Jack glanced back at him and took the plunge, hating how the words felt in his mouth. “It’s just this: suppose Nassau does fall. Suppose we are all forced to leave this place or be imprisoned.” He let out a breath. “Suppose you and I are forced to go separate ways.”

“I don’t want to live in fear of loss or separation,” Charles said instantly.

"Neither do I," Jack whispered. "Good God, I don't want to lose you. It’s difficult for me to…” He trailed off, and looked down. He bit his lip, afraid his voice would break if he allowed himself to drown in the fathomless depths of that emotion.

“But if it happened,” he pressed on, “promise me you’d take care of yourself. We both know you don’t have the best instincts towards self-preservation.” He tilted his head, longing to reach out a hand to touch Charles’ face, instead studying him slowly with his eyes. “It would literally kill me if you treated yourself like you used to, ever again,” he said quietly, "and let yourself come to any harm."

A small smile curved up the corner of Charles’ mouth. “You know I’m a man of my word." After a moment he looked back up into Jack’s eyes with seriousness. “I promise.”

Jack pressed on. “Please understand me. I never want to have to be parted from you. It hurts me to think about it. But better to have this conversation needlessly than regret not having it in the event that something does happen.”

“And you’re duty is to Bonny first. I understand,” Charles murmured.

Jack shook his head. “That’s not--what about my duty to you?”

Charles narrowed his eyes. "You have years of history with her before the two of us even met. Look, Jack. Think about how I’d feel, making you choose me over her. I refuse to be the end of your partnership. I couldn’t live with myself if I did that.”

Jack closed his eyes briefly. He whispered, voice breaking a little, “You and I have quite a lot of years of history too, don’t we.”

Charles motioned with his head for Jack to follow him back up the beach. They walked in silence across the sand, and Jack felt Charles hand brush against his. Then Charles took his hand and held it by his side as he led him to his tent.

Once inside, he pulled his coat off and lay down. Jack followed suit. Charles pulled him down onto his bed and into his embrace, burying his face against Jack’s neck.

“Tell me you love me,” he murmured.

“Darling, you know I do,” Jack whispered, clutching the back of Charles’ head. “I love you.” He closed his eyes as he entwined his fingers in Charles hair. "Please understand, I didn't want--"

" _Shut up_ , Jack," Charles said gently. "I know.”

Jack felt Charles’ body relax against him, half on top of him, a heavy solid weight. Charles pressed a slow, heavy kiss to his neck, then rested his head beside Jack’s and stroked his cheek.

“I don’t like goodbyes any more than you do,” Charles whispered. “So until that point, _if_ it ever comes, I refuse to live in fear of it.”

 

Some mornings Jack woke beside Anne. But for the most part she slept with Max, and he melted a little inside seeing how happy she was with her. He suspected that Max had not talked to her yet, but couldn't begrudge her that when Anne seemed so content and unworried about their future.

 

Jack became increasingly perturbed by the irresponsibility of the men who continued to lose their gold at the gambling table. It was alright with him, though, since he continued to win fortune upon fortune. As if he needed the money.

Jack found Charles in one of the rooms in the tavern, with papers spread out before him on the desk. He flipped a coin in his hand as he approached him. "With all this gold I could hire a hundred tailors, but I'd never have time to wear all my clothes."

Charles glanced up with a slow grin. "That'd be a shame, you not wearing anything."

Jack let out a laugh as he came to stand beside him. "What are you looking at?"

"I'll show you." Charles pulled Jack down into his lap, sliding one hand on the top of his thigh. "Inventories from the last few weeks put our resources in good preparation for an attack. Some of the gold set aside to protect Nassau is being used to purchase more powder and other supplies, due to arrive here in a few days. When I'm finished I'll send the next crew out for whatever we're lacking, or whatever supplies are lowest."

Jack turned his head to look back at Charles. "It'll be for nothing if we can't compel the men to make a good defense of Nassau. The weapons and food stores are a necessity, but a man's reason for fighting, his need for independence and self-determination--without that, the battle can't be won at all."

Charles squeezed Jack's thigh slowly, sensuously, feeling Jack stiffen against him. "That's where you come in, Jack. You can tell them whatever they need to hear to understand that the defense of this place is their only option." He nuzzled the side of Jack's neck. "I love hearing you talk circles around the men. You know you're good at it." He kissed below Jack's jaw, a heavy kiss that made Jack forget most of what they'd been talking about. "And yet it seems hard for you to speak when I'm touching you like this."

Jack bit his lip as Charles pressed his hand against his cock, already hard. "What do you want me to say?"

"Tell me what you want," Charles murmured, "I like hearing you say it." He undid Jack's trousers, and stroked his hand along Jack's cock, once, twice.

Jack opened his mouth to speak and gasped, bracing himself against the desk in front of them. "Jesus Christ, Charles. Do you want me to beg you?"

"Mm. Are you going to beg me?"

Jack arched back, his head falling on Charles' shoulder. "Please stop teasing and fuck me, for God's sake."

Charles let out an amused laugh, then pushed Jack down forcefully against the desk. He pulled Jack's coat off, and his trousers down, and Jack heard him spit into his hand, then slick his cock between Jack's legs. "I don't have anything else," he murmured in Jack's ear. "Is that alright? You'll be sore tomorrow."

"That's my concern," Jack replied hotly as he gripped the side of the desk, overwhelmed with desire and frustration to the point of wanting to cry out.

Charles nuzzled his ear, and said in a low growl, "You really want it, don't you, Jack."

"Please," Jack hissed. He groaned as Charles took his cock with one hand and stroked him as he bent him down over the desk. “ _Christ_ ," he gasped.

"Are you ready?" Charles murmured. "I want to hear you say it."

"Please," Jack groaned again.

"Please what," Charles hissed.

Jack gritted his teeth. "Please fuck me, for fuck's sake. God, I'm going to fucking kill you.”

He heard Charles laugh, low in his throat. Then Charles took him by the hips, and Jack fell silent as Charles thrust inside him, pushing him down against the desk. Jack shoved the papers to the side and bowed his head, eyes falling closed at the feeling, wondering if Charles got the same thrill from hearing him beg as Jack did when Charles pinned him down, made his whole body ache for it.

"I like knowing you want my cock this badly," Charles murmured in his ear. "You feel so good, Jack," he continued, almost a sigh, the rasp of his voice traveling down Jack's spine. "Arch your back for me. Good, like that." Charles held him down by the hips and fucked him harder. "Tell me how it feels." 

Jack cursed, partly aggravated by Charles' determination to make him talk, mostly aroused by it. "I can't really...think very clearly at the moment, thank you very much," he breathed. He couldn't think about much aside from how he needed more of everything, desperately. He pushed back against Charles to take him deeper and Charles purred.

"Fuck you, Jack. You’ll tell me, won’t you?”

Jack gasped, chest heaving. “It's almost too much, it's so tight. I'm going to be sore tomorrow. That's how it feels."

"Should I be gentler?" Charles asked. He slid one hand up Jack's back to squeeze his shoulder and placed his mouth beside it.

"No," Jack hissed, "please. You know I like this." Between Charles' cock in his ass and his own hand pleasuring himself, it would be a miracle if he lasted much longer.

Charles groaned. "You take me so well," he said quietly, and Jack shook his head, glad Charles couldn't see how aroused this made him.

"Are you _incapable_ of shutting up?"

Charles let out a laugh and sank his teeth into the side of Jack's neck. It was all Jack could do not to yell. The bite became a kiss, and as Charles moaned into it Jack felt his knees getting dangerously weak, the vibrations of Charles’ little noises of pleasure going right through him. Charles continued to thrust into him, roughly, grinding him down hard until Jack felt Charles come inside him, and Jack came with a cry, bowing his head against the wood.

Charles pulled out with a grunt, leaving Jack panting. He pulled up his trousers and turned to see Charles regarding him through half-lidded eyes, fastening his trousers, pulling his shirt up and off over his head.

"You made a mess all over the desk," he pointed out, regarding Jack with a smile, as if that event had happened independently of him, for heaven's sake.

"Whose fault is that really?" Jack asked.

He watched Charles use his shirt to wipe up the mess. Charles turned to him and pulled him into a slow kiss.

"I think we should take a bath together," Jack suggested, glancing down at Charles' mouth, narrowing his eyes. "See if you have enough in you for round two."

"Tub's not very big," Charles replied. "It's going to be a tight fit."

Jack raised his eyebrows and muttered, "But you know I like that.”

Charles growled, and dragged him bodily from the room. "So I have to make you talk while I'm fucking you, but you can say something like that afterwards? You're going to regret that, Jack," he whispered, smiling.

Jack chuckled low in his throat. Somehow he didn't think he'd regret it at all.

 

 

Charles was barely listening to the conversation of the other captains. A pleasant breeze was coming in the window from the sea, and he lit a cheroot and slouched lower in his chair, letting his thoughts wander. It hadn't been more than two weeks since the repairs on the fort began. Some of the captains had argued with Jack over the payments for the men, with confusion over Jack's unwillingness to use slaves, perhaps not understanding in whose place he was making the argument, and how little progress they would make with the issue because of it. None of it mattered now, because it had been resolved--between the captains, and between him and Jack.

Charles remembered years ago when he had first told Jack he had once been a slave. He remembered the shame he had felt at admitting it, as if it made him lesser than other men, as if it made him weak, as if it was a matter in which he had had any choice. He remembered...he remembered the heat, and the chains and the dark warm nights...and as usual, he tried to think of Jack instead, remembered the feeling of his arms around him, and the soft cadence of his voice drowning it all out, like a soft breeze smoothing the ocean at night.

"I don't care if you don't understand the issue," Jack was saying. "It  _is_  a risk, a risk I don't think we should take. I understand it, and I am telling you I need your cooperation. Charles, tell them I'm right, for heaven's sake."

Charles blinked and sat forward in his chair to look at the other men. "You heard him," he muttered. "Just do what Jack says."

The issue was something about their preparation for the possibility of a threat to the island, specifically ensuring that Nassau always had enough strength to draw upon for a fight. The downside was that fewer crews could hunt and make a profit, but compared to the risk of leaving Nassau unprotected, it was a small price to pay.

"Think about our situation, Jack. We have crews to answer for, crews who want to make money, who aren't satisfied with possibilities and what ifs."

"Isn't it our job to think in the better interests of our men?" Jack exclaimed. "To have more foresight, because they are entrusting us with leadership, with  _their_   _futures_?"

Jack continued talking, but Charles was hardly paying attention anymore. He brought his cheroot to his lips, eyes glinting as he looked at Jack with a half-smile.

Jack's boots were freshly polished, he noticed. His trousers looked like they had been pressed, as did his coat, honey-colored and finely embroidered, hanging loose over his narrow frame, coat tails moving as he paced and gestured. A cravat was tied around his neck. All despite the heat. All that careful preparation, just for Charles to tear it off him later.

Charles sighed, trying not to smile too widely. Or sooner rather than later, he amended the thought. Jack tapped impatiently on the table as he talked, and Charles let his gaze wander over Jack's sideburns to his mouth, where his eyes lingered.

Charles exhaled and shifted in his chair. He was making himself agitated and uncomfortably hot. He rubbed the back if his neck, brushed his hair aside where it had been stuck with sweat, and paused when he felt no cord resting there, no familiar weight of the silver bars against his skin. So he got down on his hands and knees and looks under the table, feeling around a bit with his hand, because perhaps the necklace had fallen off.

Jack came over to peer at him. "May I ask what in God's name you're doing, Charles?"

Charles grunted and got to his feet, brushing himself off. "Nothing." He motioned for Jack to continue as he sat back down in his chair.

Jack wiped the sweat off his brow, loosened his cravat and Charles caught just the smallest glint of silver beneath it. He started to grin. Now that he thought about it, that shirt looked awfully familiar too, and a bit too big for Jack, a bit too loose in the chest. Charles' eyes panned slowly back up. Jack glanced at him, quirking his eyebrows.

"So I'll write up a schedule, and we'll see if it's favorable to all of you," he finished.

Charles stood, breathing out the last of the cheroot smoke with a shiver of anticipation. Once they were outside, he dropped one hand onto Jack's shoulder and squeezed, steering him quickly towards the brothel.

"Wearing my clothes now, are you?" he murmured in Jack's ear.

Jack let out a quiet laugh. "Well you see, darling, if you leave things strewn about the room haphazardly then I'm bound--"

Charles growled. He couldn't get Jack upstairs fast enough. And when he did, he pinned him to the wall, and for a while they were just kissing and kissing, and oh, Jack's lips were so soft, Charles wanted to bite them and then soothe the tender skin with his tongue. Charles tilted his head to get a different angle, to get more, to kiss him harder, to make Jack surrender. When he pressed one thigh between Jack's legs and rubbed against him hard, he felt a rush at how Jack's body gave in so easily to him, became so acquiescent, so desperate to be touched. And how hard he was, how sensitive he was under Charles' hands. Jack sucked at his lower lip when Charles pulled away, his brows furrowed, face flushed, with that soft dazed look of adoration in his eyes.

"Everything off," Charles breathed, triumphant, his voice hoarse. He narrowed his eyes and added, "Except my necklace. Keep that on."

Jack raised a brow and said, "Make me, then."

Charles hummed in amusement and began stripping Jack of his clothing. There would be a time to do that slowly but it certainly wasn't now. Charles threw his own shirt off and grabbed Jack, dragging him towards their bed. Jack scrambled backwards onto it and pulled Charles after him as quickly as he could.

Charles kissed him hard, and when he felt Jack's lips give under his tongue he laughed into his mouth. He grabbed a fistful of Jack's shirt--his shirt--and pulled, tearing the fabric apart, making Jack yelp in surprise.

"Good God, was that entirely necessary?"

"Mm-hm. It's my shirt. I get to do what I want with it."

Jack flushed with arousal, let his head fall back on the pillows and reached up to hold the bedframe, his brows furrowed, sweat beading on his forehead. He breathed, "Tie me down, Charles, will you?"

Charles breathed harder, bent to undo Jack's belt, and pulled away the wide sash beneath it, then tied Jack's wrists tightly with it, and made short work of both of their trousers. Jack was looking at him like he was in agony, waiting. Charles looked at Jack's neck, how he swallowed in anticipation, Charles' necklace lying against his skin like a mark of possession. That was certainly what Charles planned to make it.

Charles bent to kiss him, let his lips wander down Jack's neck, which Jack had offered up so helpfully. He sucked on Jack's skin until he whimpered. Jack writhed slightly, turning onto his side, and then his stomach. And Charles stroked oil onto himself, and then he was inside him, holding onto the cord around Jack's neck, and Jack was so tight, surrendering so perfectly as he always did, and Charles heaved a breath, tightening his hands on Jack until the skin beneath his fingertips reddened. He fucked him harder, pushed himself deeper, and Jack made such wonderful sounds. Charles pinned him that way, one had on the back of his neck, making him thrust his hips against the bed and gasp and cry out, the sounds muffled against the pillows. There was nothing but the sound of their labored breathing together, the feeling of being right on the edge of such intense pleasure neither of them could think or say anything coherent, and they were sweating and Jack was swearing.

"Fuck, Jack," Charles hissed. " _Fuck."_ And he came as Jack did, breathing raggedly against the back of Jack's neck.

They lay together, tired and satisfied, into the late afternoon. At some point Jack unclasped the necklace from around his neck and fastened it back onto Charles. Charles' hands wandered over Jack idly, slowly. He studied the lines at the corners of Jack's eyes, his lips closed as he looked at Charles thoughtfully, ran his thumb over the stubble on Jack's chin. Charles pressed his nose under his jaw, claimed with his mouth the hollow of Jack's neck above his collarbone, then down over the lean muscle of his shoulder.

When Jack asked, Charles told him where the necklace had come from, that it was the first belonging he had ever purchased with his own money that wasn't food or a weapon. 

 

Despite his better judgement Jack let himself forget, just a little bit, the danger that lay ahead. The heat of summer in Nassau was dry and oppressive, making him long for even the shortest respite.

He joined Max and Anne for a swim in an inlet a short ride from town, and found them standing together in the waves, Anne's baggy shirt hanging down loose over her bare thighs, Max soaking wet in a lightweight shift. Max was splashing Anne playfully. Anne chased her, caught her quickly in her arms and held her tight, pulled her into a deep kiss, getting her own shirt soaking wet in the process.

Jack felt everything in him ease as as he watched them, completely at peace. He couldn't help but smile seeing Anne like that, without a care in the world. For a little while, it seemed like they were the only people who existed, with nothing but the clear sky and blue ocean as its mirror below.

Jack stripped off his coat and boots, followed by his shirt and trousers, and sighed in contentment as he slipped into the cool water.

Max caught sight of him and swam over, grabbing him by the shoulders and hiding behind him as Anne came after her. Anne splashed them both, an Max fled laughing down the beach. Anne pursued her until they fell tumbling over the sand and lay together in the surf.

Jack chuckled to himself, and dived into the waves, leaving them to kiss on the sand in peace. The sea breeze took the edge off the heat of the sunlight on the water, the waves lapping almost cool against his skin. He swam out into the middle of the inlet, and lost track of time there, until the sound of hoof-beats alerted him to Charles' arrival. Jack squinted to see the beach, saw Charles dismount and strip off his shirt, then kick his boots into the sand. He waded into the surf without a care for getting his trousers soaked, then threw them back on the sand before diving into the waves.

Jack joined Anne and Max on the shore again as he watched Charles swim. He got half-dressed again and lazed on his back, resting his head against Anne's leg. The heat wasn't so bad now. The ocean glowed a bright turquoise, the wind blowing in from the bay ruffling its surface. Jack sighed, closed his eyes and listened to the whisper of the surf against the sand, and the sound of Max and Anne murmuring together. The wind tousled his hair, and Anne's hand rested idly against his neck, occasionally lifting to smooth back a curl from his forehead.

At last she woke him from his half-slumber. "Jack, we're heading back into town," she murmured quietly. "I kind of need my leg back."

“Mmm.” He sat up, and blinked. Anne lowered her forehead for his kiss.

He watched the light play over the water. Charles had disappeared far out in the bay, and at last Jack glimpsed him swimming back to shore, cutting easily through the waves. When he emerged from the water he picked up his discarded trousers from the sand and pulled them on, getting them soaked in the process.

He approached Jack, still dripping all over, water running in rivulets down his chest. He flopped down with a groan and rested his head in Jack's lap.

"Was training with my men earlier," he said, as he looked up at Jack. "That swim felt good. I'm a little sore."

Jack cupped his cheek and stroked his beard, then the side of his neck. "You've just got to overdo it, don't you?"

He pushed Charles up, then began massaging his back and shoulders, kneading into the tight muscle. Charles groaned and bent his head forward as Jack massaged the back of his neck.

Charles' long scars stood out on his back, making Jack's heart ache as they always did. He squeezed Charles shoulders gently, then massaged his thumbs into the tight muscle at the base of Charles' neck. Then down his back, over his shoulder blades, and back up. Charles hair was beginning to dry against his skin in the cool breeze from the sea. Jack brushed it forward and reapplied himself until he felt Charles relax considerably. He smoothed his hand over Charles’ back when he was done and pressed a small kiss there.

"Better?"

Charles hummed contentedly and lay back down, resting his head in Jack's lap again. "You're good at that, Jack."

Jack stroked his fingers idly down Charles chest, and Charles lifted his hand to hold Jack's hand there, over the brand on his skin. He looked up at Jack through half-lidded eyes. Jack would never get used to how vulnerable Charles looked like this, gazing up at Jack with adoration, as he held his hand over that mark--a proof of all the horrors he had survived.

Jack’s thoughts strayed to a night not long ago, when he woke to a yell and a hand reaching for him blindly. Charles had hit his chest in the darkness, fingers spreading out over his sternum as he fumbled upwards for Jack's face, his hands shaking. Jack had found Charles’ cheek with his hand and it came away wet, not with the metallic tang of blood but the saltiness of tears, warm on Jack’s lips as he kissed him. “Oh darling, my darling, come here _,_ ” he had whispered, and pulled Charles down against him, holding him as tightly as he could. Charles was breathing so hard it scared him, the sound rattling in his chest. Jack had stroked his hands up and down Charles’ back as Charles gasped against his neck. It took Jack a long time to get Charles to relax. He had tried to pull him back from whatever place he had gone to, but Charles had barely responded to Jack’s murmurs for a long while. Jack had dried his cheeks and kissed them over and over, kissed his forehead, bumping against Charles’ nose in the darkness. They lay together half-asleep, Jack softly caressing his hair, listening to Charles’ breathing fall at last to a slow rhythm. Charles had told Jack later that he hadn't been dreaming, but had awakened to some sound. Jack had been able to make him promise to come to his and Anne's bed if it ever happened again and he was alone. Charles finally acquiesced.

Now he lay relaxed in Jack’s lap, holding his hand, regarding him with a half smile. Jack suspected that that place of fear--an entire ocean of horrors--lay just beneath the surface, but Charles was shining with such strength as if untroubled.

"You're the bravest man I've ever known," Jack murmured quietly. He brushed the back of Charles’ hand with his thumb, collecting himself before be started again. "When I first joined your crew, you seemed above fear. And I know no one is without fear, but you...refuse to let it diminish you, somehow." Charles smiled slightly, holding Jack's gaze. "It's something I've always admired about you," Jack added. "Before I was willing to admit all my other feelings for you. First and foremost I knew you stood out above all other men I'd ever met."

"What's with all the praise?" Charles asked, his voice rough. He squeezed Jack's hand and raised his eyebrows.

"Isn't my praise reason enough in itself?"

Charles gave Jack the look the usually did when Jack said something witty--like he was pleased, but didn't want to admit it and give Jack the satisfaction.

"Because you deserve to hear how much I love and admire you," Jack whispered.

Charles nestled his head against Jack's lap with a contented sigh.

 

They took the long way back to town, leading their horses, tired but relaxed after their swim.

“Thought Flint was due to return back this week,” Charles said as he scanned the bay. “Wonder what he’s been up to.”

“Probably nothing pleasant. News will precede him. It usually does,” Jack mused.

“Mm. Ever think what would happen if England struck Nassau with him absent?” Charles shook his head. “Not sure I like our chances.”

Jack glanced at him, and said quietly, “So you’ve felt it too.”

“Felt what?” Charles murmured.

“The pervading sense of dread,” Jack whispered, “like a sword ready to fall, that has hung over this place ever since I returned with the Urca gold.”

Charles silenced Jack with a soft kiss. “Sshh. I shouldn’t have brought it up,” he murmured. “There’s nothing we can do to prepare that we’re not doing already. Forget I said anything.”

“I know. You’re right,” Jack breathed. “But speaking of worrying, I’ve got to go say goodbye to Max and Anne before they leave.”

Jack glanced around and, satisfied that no one was nearby, pressed one more kiss to Charles’ mouth in a short goodbye, and felt Charles hum in satisfaction against him.

 

Max and Anne would be gone for a few days, making arrangements to exchange some of the gold for more portable currency. Jack met them by the beach and embraced Anne tightly, then pulled back to look at her face. “See you soon, darling.”

She nodded and leaned up. Jack covered the rest of the distance to press a soft kiss to her mouth.

He turned to Max, and after a moment’s hesitation, embraced her as well, noticing Anne’s surprise and small smile as she looked at the two of them. Max squeezed him back.

“Be safe, both of you,” he murmured.

“We will be,” Max replied, and put a reassuring hand on his arm, quelling his agitation with just a look--she was uncommonly good at that.

Max turned and took Anne’s hand. Jack watched as Anne helped her into the skiff, and stood there until they had disappeared into the dusk.

 

Jack returned to Nassau while there was still light, and headed for the brothel. He closed the door to their room, watching Charles glance up from the desk, where he was sprawled with his feet up, smoking.

“You sure you didn’t want to go with them?” Charles asked.

Jack shook his head vigorously. “And be the third wheel, pretending my presence could somehow give Anne any sort of protection? I don’t like being separated from her even for a short while, but I know it’s illogical to worry about her, given that she provides more than enough protection for herself _and_ Max.”

“That’s right,” Charles murmured, smiling at him.

Jack took off his coat and sighed. He looked at Charles, silent for a moment. “Do you ever...miss Eleanor, despite what she did to you?”

Charles narrowed his eyes and breathed smoke out into the air between them. “You're more than enough for me, Jack.”

“No, this isn't coming from a place of jealousy. I'm quite over that now,” Jack murmured, coming to sit on the desk beside Charles’ feet.

“What is it then?”

“Darling, for all your stoicism, you're allowed to talk to me. If you'd like.”

Charles shrugged. “Mmm. I try...not to think about her. Haven't thought about her in a long time. Doesn't hurt as much as it used to.” He smiled slightly up at Jack. “Have you to thank for that.”

Jack studied him for a moment. He couldn't help but draw similarities between his two lovers when they were both so sparing with their words, so reluctant to say more than was strictly necessary. How they were both so quickly but not lightly provoked to violence, outwardly fierce and hard, shielding their vulnerability and softness from everyone but a few. He wondered briefly what similarities, if any, Charles saw between him and Eleanor.

Jack sighed as Charles pulled him into his arms. Charles held him to his chest for a few long breaths.

When he finally pulled back, he took another drag from his cheroot, lifted it to Jack's lips, and watched Jack inhale slowly.

The smoke burned a little in Jack's lungs on the way down, and smelled both acrid and slightly sweet. Jack exhaled, feeling Charles' heavy gaze upon him. Charles' eyes darted down to his lips and then he covered them with his own, soft but with an edge of hunger. He lifted Jack’s chin with his hand, and pressed his mouth to his neck, relishing the little gasps Jack made in his ear.

“We both got a lot of exercise today,” Jack whispered, “but I’d be up for more if you are.”

Charles let out a laugh. They began pulling off their clothes, with that same urgency of their first night together. Charles pushed Jack down on their bed and kissed him deeply for a long while, and then pulled back **,** looking down breathlessly at his mouth.

Jack ran his hands luxuriously over Charles’ shoulders and glanced down at Charles cock pressing against his thigh, then back up into his eyes in a wordless question, although he was sure Charles would like to hear him ask.

Charles straddled Jack's chest and Jack pulled him down by his ass, urging him closer. Charles groaned as Jack's lips touched the head of his cock. He thrust down into Jack's mouth, bracing his arms against the bedframe.

"You've gotten really good at this, Jack," Charles said, a bit breathless. Jack could only moan in response, gagged beneath him. "Too bad you can't talk while you're doing this for me." He thrust slowly into Jack's mouth and then back out, almost teasing himself with the slowness.

He paused, tense, as Jack held the back of his thighs, and then pulled out completely. Jack sat up half way, panting. "Don't you want to finish?" he asked, voice quiet.

Charles leaned in close, pressing his face into the crook of Jack's neck, and growled, "Not yet. I've got a better idea. Remember how I made you talk last time?"

Jack narrowed his eyes. "How could I ever forget."

He felt Charles laugh against him. "I want you to talk to me, tell me you love me, praise me as I suck you off," he murmured. Jack could feel the reverberations of his voice pulsing through him. "Do that for me, Jack," Charles added hoarsely.

Jack whimpered a little bit, and Charles kissed him, slow and heavy on the mouth. "I know it's _hard_ \--" he growled, grinding his hips against Jack's-- "for you to think when all the blood is rushing away from your brain." Jack moaned in complaint. "If you'd rather, I could just leave you like this," Charles suggested, with a glint of humor in his eye. "Or--do as I say and I'll suck your cock."

Jack bit his lip hard. "You make a compelling argument," he said shortly.

Charles lowered himself between Jack's legs with a triumphant grin, and wrapped his arms under Jack's hips.

" _Fuck_ ," Jack gasped, as Charles licked him, long and slow, before swallowing him down to the base.

Charles hummed in encouragement against him.

"You...enjoyed my praise earlier, did you?" Jack managed weakly. He held on to the back of Charles'  head. "Good God. If I've known years ago I'd have Charles Vane doing this to me..." he panted.

Charles laughed low in his throat, and Jack opened his mouth in a silent gasp. He panted a bit more, and said quietly, "Fuck...you look so good like this."

Charles rewarded him with a noise of satisfaction, glancing up into Jack's eyes as he moved his mouth up and down Jack's cock.

Jack heaved a sigh. "You're so good," he said, gasping, pulling a little on the back of Charles’ head. Charles moaned, his eyes glinting. "So good at giving head, Charles," Jack pressed on. "Almost too good."

That earned another smug laugh from Charles. "Why are you _like_ this," Jack hissed. "Not that I'm really complaining."

Charles pulled back to the head of Jack's cock, then sank all the way back down. Jack dug his fingers into Charles’ scalp and moaned, breathing harder.

"Years ago, I tried to convince myself it was just admiration, the way I looked at you..." Jack's face screwed up as his breaths came in short gasps. "The way I looked at your body. God, your _body._ Argued to myself that I felt like that because I looked up to you, or maybe...that I was a little jealous." He bit his lip to keep himself from moaning. He was aware that he was rambling now, gushing over how he felt about Charles. "I tried to deny what it was. But there's only so much denial a man can take. And I just couldn't... someone like you, who is loyal to a fault, courageous, refuses to...to compromise his beliefs no matter the circumstances--how could I not love and admire you?"

Charles hummed deep in his throat, looking grateful beyond words, closing his eyes. Jack groaned quietly, and clenched his hand in Charles' hair at the vibrations from his little noises of approval, lost in the feeling of Charles' mouth. He wanted to say that he was close, but he couldn't form words anymore, besides to quietly say Charles’ name until he couldn’t hold on any longer. He came watching Charles moan around his cock.

Charles pulled back and crawled over him, panting, then hungrily pressing his mouth to Jack's.

Jack wrapped his hand around Charles' cock, which must be achingly hard by now, and heard Charles give a little noise of relief into his mouth. He caught his breath between Charles' heavy kisses, slowly coming back to his senses.

Experimentally, Jack wrapped his fingers around Charles' wrist and pushed, driving him onto his back. He pinned Charles' hand above his shoulder, leaned in close as he continued stroking his hand up and down Charles' cock. Charles lifted his other arm above his head to grip the bedframe.

"You're being uncharacteristically submissive today," Jack said, low in his ear.

Charles growled at him and thrust into his hand. "Are you going to let me fuck your mouth again or are you still using it, Jack?"

Jack brushed his fingertips lightly over Charles' cock, making Charles groan. "You can make that choice for me anytime you want. But I suspect you'd like to let me keep doing this to you." Charles moaned in response. "Especially since I'm finding it considerably easier to think now."

Jack closed his hand around Charles' cock again, and was rewarded with a gasp. "I like that you're letting me be in control, Charles," Jack murmured in his ear. "I like knowing you could snap me in half with your bare hands, but you'd rather let me take care of you like this."

He pulled back to look at Charles, who looked back at him through half-lidded eyes dark with arousal. He pressed his thumb into the muscles of Charles' abdomen, and ran it up and down over his abs, watching Charles tense under him.

"I should praise everything about you," Jack whispered reverently. He ran his hand up over Charles' pecs, stroked the side of his neck and tangled his fingers in Charles' hair. "Your shoulders, your neck..." He gently bit the muscle between Charles' neck and shoulder, and then sucked hard on the mark he had left. Charles thrust into Jack's hand with a groan.

"You're so good," Jack whispered in Charles' ear. "So good at sucking cock, so good at fucking me just how I like, so good at telling me what you want. You're so good, just like this."

He licked the head of Charles' cock once, lapping up the wetness, and resumed stroking with his hand. Charles moaned loudly. Jack crouched over him again, ran his hand up Charles' arm to his wrist and squeezed tightly. He whispered, "I love you, I love pleasing you." He kissed the side of Charles neck and murmured in his ear, "I love making you moan like this."

"I fucking _knew_ you could talk dirty if you put your mind to it," Charles gritted between his teeth. His breaths were coming fast and shallow. He growled low in his throat in a noise that Jack realized was a whimper. "Are you going to let me come now, Jack?"

"Maybe if you beg me," Jack offered, although he doubted he'd get away with it.

And he didn’t--not really. Charles looked at him with hunger. "Your mouth. On my cock. Now."

Jack raised his eyebrows and allowed himself just enough time for a satisfied grin before doing as Charles ordered. Charles groaned and rolled over on top of him, thrusting deep into his mouth. Jack reached up to squeeze the sides of his waist, then ran his hands over the curve of Charles' ass to the back of his thighs. Charles was close, his body tense, trembling slightly with exertion. He bowed his head against the bed. When he was about to come, Jack pushed him gently onto his back. He wiped his mouth and then ran his hands up Charles’ abdomen and chest to the sides of his neck and back down, feeling him shudder beneath him.

"I want to see you," he murmured.

Charles threw his head back as he came, wet between their bellies. Jack leaned down to kiss the side of his neck and sucked on his skin as he felt Charles riding out the last waves of pleasure coursing through his body.

Jack pulled back to look at him and ran a cloth over his chest. Charles looked dazed, the corner of his mouth curving up in a smile.

"Not bad, Jack."

Jack leaned down to kiss him again. "It seems like I don't tell you any of that nearly often enough." Charles let out a contented sigh, and Jack whispered in his ear, "I'll do whatever you need, darling. Praise you again and again, if it makes you feel good." Charles reached for Jack's hand and brought it to his chest, and Jack wondered briefly if Eleanor had ever figured out the way to make Charles so malleable was to simply express affection, or if they’d only ever had rough sex. Jack pressed his face into the crook of Charles' neck. "You'll tell me what you need, won't you? You know I'd do anything for you."

Charles rolled over, half on top of him. "You're so good for me," he murmured.

“That's what my goal was, when we started,” Jack said quietly.

"When we started fucking, you mean?"

"No, when you started letting me take care of you."

Charles let out a contented groan and then pressed his mouth to Jack's.

 

A few days later and there was still no sign from Flint. Charles strode into the tavern where Jack was talking with the other captains, and it took Jack a minute to recognize the man behind him--tall, heavy-set and bearded, with three pistols strapped across his chest.

“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath, straightening himself as Teach approached.

“Jack, we need to talk,” Charles said urgently, motioning with his head for Jack to follow him. Jack nodded quickly, glancing at Teach as the three of them left the tavern's main floor.

They found an empty room, and Charles sat down in a chair by the desk, lighting a cheroot as Teach sat down opposite him.

"To a momentous return." Jack poured brandy into glasses for all three of them and set one down in front of Teach. "A man of your ability and experience will be a most welcome addition to our ranks."

Teach turned to look at him. "Jack," he murmured after a moment. "Rackham."

Jack nodded, smiling nervously. "That's my name."

Teach's face was unreadable as he looked Jack up and down. "You're the scrawny one. Who tried so desperately to join Charles' first crew." He glanced at Charles, leaving the brandy untouched. "Flint I can understand. But this is your third partner?"

Charles puffed smoke into the air with a frustrated sigh. "Jack took the Urca de Lima prize, transported it, secured it, has been employing it to provide for Nassau's defense."

Jack cleared his throat and sat gingerly in a chair. "In the event of a threat to the island, Captain Flint as the island's most able naval tactician will command our forces on the water, and Charles will captain the militia to defend the land," he added.

Teach looked at him levelly. "Why?"

"Beg your pardon?"

"Why are you so determined to defend Nassau?"

Jack narrowed his eyes. "Because Henry Avery set his camp here and said this is a place for free men," he began. "Because you sailed from here, made this place feared. Because Henry Jennings, Benjamin Hornigold, and Sam Bellamy gave Nassau life."

"And you think your name belongs on that list," Teach replied, regarding Jack with a mildly challenging look. From him, it only had to be mildly challenging to crush Jack’s self esteem.

Jack set down his glass. He said amicably, “I think I should give you the chance to talk, just the two of you.” As he moved to get up from his chair, Charles pushed him back down roughly by his shoulder.

Then Charles did the last thing Jack expected--he sat down heavily on Jack's lap, leaning his back against Jack's chest, took Jack's hand and placed it on the top of his thigh.

He looked at Teach with a level gaze. "I don't care what you think of Jack. But if you value my partnership, it means you trust my judgement. Do you think I let just anyone into my confidence? Jack is more than just a partner to me. He is not a disposable part of this operation. If I were you, I'd watch the way you speak about him, and reconsider why it is you think he's here."

Jack held his breath, beyond the point of panic, waiting with anxiety for the judgment of this man he hardly knew and yet greatly admired. That Jack was fucking the man Teach viewed as a son and he should know about it was...less than optimal.

Teach gave Charles a long, thoughtful look, then glanced at Jack with hard eyes. "Very well." His eyes flickered back to Charles. "I certainly wasn't expecting you of all people to have this preference."

“Lack of a preference,” Charles corrected him. “If you’ve got a problem with that, you can tell me right now. I don't have time for that shit."

Teach shook his head slightly. "I just wonder why, when we sailed together, you felt the need to keep this a secret from me." Jack thought he detected the smallest bit of parental concern on Teach's face.

Charles growled. "That's not a personal affront and you know it. Has nothing to do with you. It would have been stupid as hell for me to admit to anything of the sort, not knowing what sort of repercussions I would face from the crew."

Teach stood, nodded slightly. "Perhaps you're right." He looked at Jack. "But it isn't the gender of your partner that concerns me."

"What is it then?" Charles asked. He stood angrily and paced to the window.

"You have given Nassau something which she never had before--prosperity. Strife is good,” Teach said insistently. “Strife makes a man strong. For if a man is capable of confronting death daily, _functioning_ in the face of it, there’s no telling what else that man can do. And a man whose limits can not be known is a very hard man to beat in battle.” He opened his hands. “Now I look around me and I see crews filled with men who have only ever won a prize through surrender. I see captains who ought to have been deposed months ago keep their office because their men are _comfortable._ ” He shook his head. “I see decay everywhere. I returned to go on the account as I know it. I returned because in this place I believed I could find a man necessary to do so, in particular one man that I thought worthy of standing alongside me at the head of a terrible fleet. I wonder if he's still here."

Charles held Teach’s gaze for a moment until he turned and strode away, closing the door behind him.

“Cheerful fellow, isn’t he,” Jack muttered.

Charles heaved out a sigh. "What the fuck." He paced to the window, hands on his hips. "We've been doing everything we can to make Nassau strong again. Of course some of the men are lulled into a false sense of security by the gold. But you, Flint and I and the other captains have _bled_ for that gold. We've made our names feared again. We've made _this place_ feared again. Men here can finally do more than barely survive, and I fail to see how that's a bad thing."

"You know I agree."

“Without the gold, what resources would we have had to repel the British when they eventually make their move?” Charles shook his head. "I'm sure he's just bitter that it was a seventeen-year-old girl that kept him away from this place for so long."

"I'm sure it's strange to see him again," Jack murmured. "Something like a father to you, wasn't he?"

Charles shrugged. "Closest thing," he muttered. He glanced at Jack. "Always disapproved of my romantic choices."

"I really didn't expect you to _tell_ him," Jack said quietly. "Don't misunderstand me--I don't mind that you did. But you know I can defend myself."

"But you weren't defending yourself, Jack," Charles countered. "I couldn't let that slide. You're not the only one who cares about Jack Rackham's good name." He approached Jack, and rested his thumbs in his belt as he looked down at him. "That, and I figured he's not stupid. If anyone could guess what was going on between us, it would be him. He knows me too well." Charles looked Jack up and down with the hint of a smile. "He's right about one thing. You still are pretty scrawny."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "You don't mind, do you?"

Charles grinned widely. "I like you just the way you are. Lucky for me, you're still pretty comfortable to sit on." He sat back down on Jack's lap, turning his head to look back at him. He brought Jack's hand to his thigh again and held it there.

Jack let out a sigh of contentment. "It's probably only comfortable because you've got such a great ass," he whispered.

Charles raised his eyebrows and let his head fall back a little so he could kiss Jack's mouth.

"Mm." He was silent for a moment. "It's funny, I used to revere him, and feel terrified about what would happen if he lost respect for me, saw me as weak or less masculine. Guess I don't care about that anymore."

"I don't think he's lost respect for you because of this," Jack offered. "And to be fair, I don't think you care as little about his opinion as you say."

Charles let out a laugh. "Maybe you're right." He was silent for a moment. "How absurd is it that even here, even this far from civilization, we still operate by their rules? Men hiding their love for men, women hiding their love for women as if it's some source of shame, when we should be free to do as we please."

Jack brushed Charles' hair from the back of his neck and pressed a kiss there. "It was brave, what you did," he murmured.

Charles turned his head to look at him, smiling a little at the praise, then glanced down at his mouth, let his head fall back on Jack's shoulder again to kiss him, long and deep. Jack pulled him closer by his hips and Charles broke away from the kiss with a quiet noise of satisfaction.

Charles' muscular body was pressing down on his thighs, his back resting against Jack's chest. Charles shifted against him, and Jack bit his lip. It wouldn't take much more of this to make him hard.

Jack pushed his concerns about Nassau’s defense from his mind--or maybe the knowledge that their life here could change so quickly and so soon made him anxious to touch Charles again, made his need for him more desperate, more overwhelming. He ran his hands up and down Charles' thighs, in awe, as he always was, of how much power was contained in Charles' musculature. Charles arched a little against him.

"Mm. Remember that time you stitched up my leg?" Charles moved Jack's hand to his inner thigh above his knee, positioning his fingers exactly. "Scar's right there." Jack was already hard, with Charles' ass pressing down on his cock, Charles’ thighs spread wide on either side of his legs. "You wanted to fuck me back then, didn't you, Jack?" Charles whispered.

Jack let out a laugh, a little breathless. "You know I did." He squeezed Charles' thigh. "Are you always such a tease?"

Charles ground down against him and Jack echoed the motion by grasping him firmly by the hips and pulling his ass down tightly against him. He gritted his teeth as he urged Charles into the rhythm he wanted. He could see that Charles was hard through his trousers, quickly undid them and wrapped his hand around his cock.

Charles groaned and arched against him in response, letting Jack jerk him off. "I can feel how hard you are," he whispered hoarsely. Jack winced as Charles ground harder against him. "Let me do something about that."

Jack imagined bending Charles down over the desk and fucking him, groaned at the feeling of Charles' ass against him. But he didn't want to push Charles in a direction that he might not like, so he gripped him firmly, keeping him anchored on his lap. "I want to take care of you first, darling," he whispered. He ran one hand up Charles' spine. "Take your shirt off for me."

"You giving me orders now?" Charles asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. He stripped his shirt over his head, his back flexing under Jack's avid gaze, all muscle and tanned scarred skin from his broad shoulders to the curve of his ass.

"Just the one," Jack breathed.

He pulled Charles back gently but firmly by his hair, and Charles resisted. "Harder," he rasped, until Jack yanked him back roughly, making him groan. He arched into Jack's hand stroking his cock, Jack's other hand settling on the intersection of his shoulder and neck.

" _Charles_ ," Jack panted. The pressure against his cock was an almost unbearable pleasure as Charles ground down on him. He pressed kisses against Charles’ back as he moved his hand against his cock. Charles was breathing hard, thrusting into Jack's hand. He raised one hand behind him to cup the back of Jack's head, and Jack kissed the side of his neck hard, feeling Charles groan against him. Charles gritted his teeth as he came, then exhaled deeply with relaxation, head falling back on Jack's shoulder. Jack watched his chest heave, closed his eyes to press a kiss to the side of his neck again, then moaned in protest at the sudden absence of Charles' warmth on his lap.

Charles dropped to his knees between Jack’s legs, glanced up at him and opened his trousers with a bit of amusement at Jack's breathless expression. He gave Jack a quick but thorough once-over with his eyes, leaned closer and purred, “anyone ever tell you you're exceptionally well-endowed, Jackie?”

Jack let out a breath, feeling his face grow hot, his breathing becoming shallow as Charles began to stroke his cock with his hand. “Charles, _please_. I've told you I've only ever slept with Anne before you. Can you honestly imagine her saying anything of the sort, let alone caring about that sort of thing?”

Charles laughed, watching Jack's face screw up, then bent his head down, placing Jack's hand on the back of his neck. He blinked slowly up at him. “Lucky I appreciate you so much then.”

Jack gasped at the warmth of Charles' mouth, and whatever incredible thing he was doing with his tongue. It wasn't long before Charles had him a panting, moaning mess, fingers clenching desperately in Charles’ hair as he came.

The fell asleep in bed together later, Jack's head pillowed on Charles’ chest, focusing on his quiet breathing and his heart beating steadily under his hand.

 

Jack was in the tavern when Anne returned. He knew something was wrong before she spoke, her mouth set in a grim line.

“A governor?” he asked her quietly, as she stood close to him in the crowded room. Despite the agitation he felt rising to engulf him, it was also a strange relief to have that vague fear of England’s retribution solidify into something tangible--something tangible he could fight and no longer had to fear for its shapelessness alone.

“We have a week, maybe less.” She looked up at him from under the brim of her hat, then glanced away to where Max stood by the door. Jack followed her gaze immediately. Max looked at the two of them, her eyes lingering on Anne before she turned and disappeared out into the sunlit street.

Anne lowered her voice, speaking quietly beside Jack. “If we can’t hold Nassau…” She stopped, pausing for a long while as Jack looked at her.

She finally glanced up at him. “She said...she said it ain’t your idea. That you couldn’t bear to do that to me, separating us like that. That it would be her decision, if it came to it.”

Jack was relieved that Max had finally talked to her, but the thought of Anne being forced to consider separation from Max--even for a moment--upset him. But it was becoming a real possibility now, even though he wanted to believe he was confident they could repel an invasion. Anne had to consider all the possibilities that lay ahead, just like he did. His thoughts strayed to Charles, against his will. He took Anne's hand gently and squeezed it between his own, at a loss for words.

She tugged him by the hand out of the room into the hall, her face hidden under the brim of her hat. Jack felt her hand tremble almost imperceptibly in his. “ _Darling_ ,” he murmured, bending down slightly to look at her face.

She glanced up and away, swallowing hard. “Ain’t ready to lose her,” she muttered, her voice thick. “Just ain’t ready.”

Jack pulled her to his chest and felt her exhale. He rested his chin on the top of her head and lifted a hand to stroke her hair.

“Said you’d offered to protect her, if she came with us,” Anne murmured against his chest. “Should’ve known she’d refuse. D’you think my life is just incompatible with hers? That some people just aren’t meant to be together like that...no matter how hard they try?”

Jack pulled back to look at her. “Not for a second.”

Anne breathed out a sigh. “This fucking island, brings you everything you’ve ever wanted, wants to take it all away again.”

Jack looked down at her tenderly, searching her face. “Nothing's set in stone yet.”

She pressed her face back into the crook of his neck and he sighed deeply, wrapping his arms around her. She fit perfectly like that against him, and he held her in his arms for a long while.

 

The tavern was packed, the air filled with voices, as men argued about Jack’s plan for the defense of Nassau.

“And if they call our bluff?”

“ _There is no bluff here_ ,” Charles said loudly, quieting the room. “If we can discourage them from engaging, so much the better. If not, we fight to protect the island.”

“With who in command of the fleet? No one’s seen Flint in weeks.”

Charles replied evenly, “When he hears news of the invasion he’ll return.”

“But if he doesn't? No man has his skill in leading a fleet in battle. Not even you.”

Charles stood, shaking his head. “What the fuck’s the matter with you people. We haven’t done enough for you? You turn your back on us now?”

Another man stood as voices rose. “You can see his point though. If no Flint, the strategy involved in coordinating this fleet will be--”

Jack whistled sharply, startling the men into silence. “That's enough.” He pointed at the man in question. “You, sit down. The rest of you, listen closely. I never approved of Eleanor Guthrie’s harsh mothering of this place--I believe my record in that issue is in good order. Now, that said, if you’re going to behave like children then I will be your daddy.” Charles looked like he was trying to suppress laughter. He composed himself with some effort as Jack continued.

Jack looked around at the assembled men. “When this meeting breaks I will address the street, your crews, and I will persuade them that a defense of this place isn't just desirable, it is _critical_ to their ability to call themselves men. I’ll have them in _such_ a state that any captain in this room who speaks in opposition to this plan--opposition born from, what, a fear of losing?--will not long call himself captain. Mmm?” He strode the length of the room and turned back to look at them. “I’m committed to this.” He tapped the table urgently with his finger. “ _Charles_ is committed to this. Captain Flint will be returning soon. He is _most_ committed to this.” He raised his voice. “And if that weren't enough you will recall that Anne and I have put _thousands_ of pieces into your pockets in contemplation of the day when your cooperation would be called upon to defend this place. That day is _today_ and you _will_ answer the call!”

In the silence that followed, Teach walked slowly down onto the tavern floor and said simply, “Flint is dead.”

Jack held his breath, feeling a sudden chill in the close room. Now it was truly quiet. Teach turned as he looked around at the men, the wood floor creaking under his feet. “Went down in a storm, pursued by the leading edge of this invasion force. Pirate hunter by the name of Benjamin Hornigold.”

The room stirred uneasily and Jack cursed under his breath. He couldn't quite believe it, even as he felt his heart sink. Flint’s end was not meant to come from someone as uninspiring and unambitious as Hornigold. Jack had almost believed the man was unkillable until now. He shared a glance with Charles.

Teach continued, “Before anyone commits to anything just know you'll be doing it without Flint. But I may be able to offer an alternative.”

The loss of Flint, but the addition of Teach--Jack wondered if it would be enough, as he imagined how the battle might play out. His thoughts raced as discussion broke out among the crews again, and Teach began outlining his strategies. Teach was still familiar with Nassau, despite the years he’d been away. It made sense to have him take the lead. There was no more able naval tactician on the island or perhaps even in the whole of the West Indies. Jack felt his pulse quicken. If they couldn’t defend Nassau with Teach’s help then perhaps there was no defense to be made at all. But, God, he wanted to have a try before the end--to do it for Anne, for Charles, for all of them.

Charles was looking at him from across the room, eyes glinting. Amid the clamor he got up from where he was slouching against the wall and came over to stand close to Jack. He lowered his voice to a quiet rasp. "After you're done here, you're going to come back to the fort, and then I want you to fuck me."

Jack bit his lip hard. "I'm sorry, did I hear you correctly?” he murmured.

“Yeah, I want it, Jack,” Charles growled. His breath tickled Jack's neck.

Jack had a sense that Charles already knew he was becoming aroused. “Something I said?" he asked quietly.

Charles looked him up and down. "Doesn't matter.” Jack felt hot from his voice and his closeness, and the look in his eyes that said he knew exactly what effect his words were having.

Jack finished up business with the other captains as quickly as he could, after watching Charles leave to talk alone with Teach. His patience with these men had already been stretched to the breaking point, and thanks to Charles he could barely focus on a single thing.

Once he was satisfied they would all come into line, he left the tavern and headed for Nassau fort, breathing in the cool night air in short gasps.

He rushed up to Charles’ rooms and closed the door behind him. Charles strode towards him and pushed him against the wall with a hard kiss. Jack heaved a deep breath when Charles pulled away, began taking off his coat and shirt, watched as Charles stripped his shirt over his head. He surged forward, putting his hands all over Charles, reaching down, feeling how hard Charles was through his trousers. Charles growled, pulled him down onto the bed and rolled on top of him.

For a moment they were just fumbling with each other, caught between kissing and struggling out of the rest of their clothes. Finally undressed, Jack pulled Charles down by his ass, grinding them together, hearing Charles’ sharp inhalations. They rolled over each other, Jack ending up on top by sheer luck. He looked at Charles beneath him: pupils dilated, looking up at him with a wild sort of hunger, his skin glowing warm in the candlelight.

“Did I misunderstand what you wanted?” he asked breathlessly, pulling back and glancing down at Charles’ mouth.

“No, I think I made myself perfectly clear,” Charles growled. He turned over and braced his arms against the wall at the head of the bed.

Jack immediately bent to kiss his back. He massaged the tight muscle of Charles’ back with his thumbs, and kissed him reverently down his spine to the curve of his ass.

“Get on with it,” Charles muttered. He arched his back as Jack squeezed his ass. “You can admire me later.” Jack pulled back back breathlessly and reached beside the bed for a condom and some oil, hastily got himself ready. Charles groaned and writhed beneath him. “Fucking hurry up.”

“I don’t want to rush.” Jack bent to kiss Charles' shoulder. Gently, as Charles did with him, he pushed his fingers inside him, felt Charles accept him with a groan. Charles rocked back against him, his head falling forward between his arms.

“I want your cock, Jack.” Charles voice was rough, almost choked, and Jack felt it instantly in his achingly hard cock, overwhelmed to have Charles begging him for the very thing he had imagined doing to him.

“Oh, you do?” he murmured in Charles' ear. So this was it was like to make Charles beg. Jack couldn't deny that it made him more than a little pleased. “Then you have to be patient for me, darling.” Jack smoothed his other hand up and down Charles’ back as he thrust inside him gently with his fingers, listening to Charles’ little gasps. Satisfied that Charles was ready, he pulled out and rubbed more oil on himself, his hand brushing between Charles’ thighs.

“Wrap your belt around my wrists so I can’t break out of it,” Charles ordered, his back rising and falling as he breathed harder.

“Are you sure you want...”

“Do it,” Charles growled.

Jack tightened the leather slowly until Charles resisted with a groan. He bent his mouth to Charles’ ear, massaging his fingers up the back of Charles’ scalp. “Alright?”

“Mmm,” Charles grunted. “Fuck me already. I don't mind if it hurts. You can punish me. I can take it.”

Jack closed his eyes briefly, heart aching in his chest, and stroked Charles’ hair from the back of his neck. “ _No_ , darling, it doesn't have to be like that,” he whispered.

“Why the fuck not?”

Jack petted his hair and leaned closer. “You said I can and that you don’t mind, not that you actually want me to. There’s miles of difference, isn’t there?”

“Fuck’s your point?”

“Nothing should hurt you. Would you rather I was gentle with you?” His voice caught in his throat as he looked down at Charles, asking for pain instead of pleasure when he’d had enough pain to last lifetimes. Jack cursed that masculine impulse which did not permit the simple act of asking for gentleness.

Charles moaned hard through gritted teeth. “Whatever you want.”

“Then relax for me, darling,” Jack whispered.

He massaged the back of Charles’ head, and felt Charles relax, giving Jack control. Jack kissed his back and the back of his neck, slow and admiring.

Charles turned to look at Jack out of the corner of his eye. “Am I yours, Jack?”

Jack lifted one hand to squeeze his wrists tightly. “Oh yes, you're mine.”

“Show me,” Charles growled.

Jack moved forward and held Charles’ hip with one hand as he entered him, biting back a noise at the sensation. He began to grind Charles down against the bed, reaching one hand forward to stroke his cock. He kissed down the back of Charles’ neck and squeezed his shoulder, slowly, gently, feeling the muscles loosen under his hands. Jack squeezed the side of Charles’ ass as he pushed inside him, and _God_ it felt good. Charles arched his back and pushed against him with a groan, slow and eager.

“Just like that _,_ ” Jack murmured, brushing his lips over Charles’ ear.

Charles was so pliable under his hands, beginning to shudder slightly, lifting his hips up off the bed, responding eagerly to Jack's caresses. He pulled weakly at his bonds, and heaved a few breaths before replying. “Too good to me, Jack, don't need to be so good. Don't have to…be...mmm.”

“Nothing's too good for you. I want to take care of you.”

Charles sighed, his voice low and rough. “I like it your way.”

Jack kissed Charles' back again, heard him curse as he ground him down against the bed. He pulled Charles’ hair gently, and was rewarded with a desperate sound. He whispered, “It _was_ something I said, wasn't it?”

Charles huffed out a laugh, and purred, “maybe...maybe I got hot and bothered listening to you talk those men into submission.”

“Oh, you did, did you?” Jack murmured in his ear.

“Don't sound so pleased with yourself, Jack,” Charles replied, although he sounded pleased enough for the both of them. He panted a little bit and breathed, “Tell me I'm yours.”

Jack nuzzled Charles’ ear. “You are, my darling, you're mine.”

He squeezed the back of Charles' neck, and ran his hand down his back, held him by the hips, listening to Charles panting and murmuring his name. Just his name, over and over, his voice hoarse as he arched his back, the candlelight warm on his skin. Jack kissed him as if he could drink in all of it. It felt so good, and Jack bit his lip hard as he tangled his hand in Charles' hair again. He took him deeper, breathing hard against the back of his neck, and then Charles came with a groan and Jack couldn't hold on anymore, bracing himself against Charles' back as he thrust inside him and finished, chest heaving, buried to the hilt.

His body was heavy, relaxed with pleasure. He withdrew, took off the condom, ran a cloth up Charles’ stomach and chest. Charles let Jack turn him over and lay heavily against the bed as Jack untied him, looking up at Jack through half-lidded eyes.

Jack gently massaged the red lines on Charles’ wrists, leaned down and kissed him deeply, then buried his face against Charles’ neck, thinking as he closed his eyes how important it was that Charles should know he deserved the most love and tenderness. “Darling, are you alright?” he asked quietly. “Tell me.”

Charles grunted and held the back of Jack's neck, keeping him in his embrace. “Mmm.” He found Jack's hand and brought it to his chest where he held it over his heart.

Sex with Eleanor had always been a contest, not just physically but emotionally, a struggle to win her love that felt like drowning deeper and deeper into the sea. With Jack, it was so easy, he could forget all the games he used to play with her, forget everything else but Jack, so eager to please him, so eager to be gentle with him in a way Eleanor had never been, almost worshipful of his body. It was easier to beg someone to be rough and receive it than beg someone to be gentle and be refused, a habit so ingrained Charles had stopped questioning it, even if he still wanted Jack’s soft caresses more than anything.

Charles rolled over half on top of him. He didn't give any thought to what might happen tomorrow, if this would be their last night together, just fell asleep holding Jack, listening to him murmuring in his ear. He dreamed that a storm overtook Nassau, heavy rains washing away the sand, altering the landscape forever.

 

Jack watched as the men on the beach slowly turned, tempted by the safety guaranteed by the pardons. And the worst of it was finding out that Eleanor was on one of those ships, and that the only man denied a pardon was Charles Vane. His worst fears were confirmed, as were Anne's. No defense could have prevented this, no amount of planning, no well-conceived strategy, and it all happened without a single shot being fired. They had lost Nassau. They would lose more than just Nassau.

He couldn't look at Charles, so he looked up at the battlements of the fort where explosives were due to blow any minute. It was too sunny and beautiful a day for this. Jack wondered, if they'd had the time, if Charles would even want to talk about last night. He wondered if there was a point in reminding Charles of the promise he'd made him, but decided it was either trust his word or not, and Charles had not broken his word to him yet in all the long years they'd known each other.

"What?" Charles prompted him, his voice a quiet rasp urging Jack to look back at him.

So Jack did, and studied him since he couldn't touch him, slowly, reluctant to admit to what this was. "I was just going to say I'll see you soon, but that would probably be a lie, wouldn't it?" he said quietly.

A sad smile flickered over Charles' face. "Probably."

This couldn’t be happening, not yet. Charles tugged him forward by the elbow, pulling him into his embrace. Jack exhaled, closing his eyes for a brief moment he wished could become an eternity.

And just like that it was over, and the loss made Jack feel bitterly cold.

“Godspeed, Charles,” he said quietly.

Charles looked at him tenderly and murmured, “Fuck you, Jack.” He smiled, strong and reassuring, telling Jack it was all going to be alright. No surprise that he was braver in this moment than Jack.

Then the wall crumbled from the blast, that damn wall which had been both Jack's betrayal of Charles' trust as well as their reconciliation. Jack would be damned if he'd let a British governor profit from any of the pain or labor that went into making it. He felt the rush of a light, giddy sort of triumph at the destruction, saw the emotion mirrored in Charles’ eyes.

Then Charles turned and mounted the heap of rubble, climbing easily up and over. He paused to look at Jack one more time and smiled at him. Jack tried to draw on his courage, and felt his love for him fill up his chest for a moment, warm and bright. With that feeling he managed to return the smile, and then Charles was gone.

He walked with Anne in silence as she led their horse over the dry earth, cracked from the summer heat. Neither of them could bring themselves to be the first to speak for a long while.

“Fortune in gems and the freedom to go anywhere we we could want,” Anne muttered, so quiet Jack almost missed it. “Anybody else would call that a victory.”

Jack whispered, “ _Fuck_ those people.”

 

Charles made it past the blockade with Teach, felt a dark sort of satisfaction as one of the fleet's ships burned and crumbled into the sea. It sank slowly, sending flames leaping to the nearby ships, and although Charles doubted it would take another entire ship down with it, it was enough for them to make their escape. Somewhere one of those ships was Eleanor, and he felt strangely unbothered by the knowledge of her presence. It was exhilarating, this freedom from her. For so long she seemed to tug on him like a rope that bound him, but now he felt no pull from her at all. Or if he did, it was only because there would always be some part of him that turned to her like the needle of a compass, drawn against his will by a magnetic force, but now that part of him no longer determined his path forward.

When they were out on open water, Teach came to stand beside him at the rail. “This place...it has some strange way of bringing you back to it against your will,” he murmured. “I wonder if you will really be able to leave it behind you.”

Charles smiled grimly. “What choice do I have? Eleanor has somehow convinced the governor that I am their only real enemy, the only one not deserving forgiveness.”

Teach nodded and looked at him thoughtfully. “Nassau you can leave behind, maybe. I'm more concerned about your partner, and if you can leave him behind.”

Charles sighed deeply and looked away over the dark waves, finally letting his thoughts turn to their goodbye. Jack had looked on the verge of tears. He had kept a brave face until the end, and the last Charles had seen him he had been standing with Bonny, her hand resting on his shoulder.

He sat with Teach in his cabin, the lantern light flickering over them in the movement of the ship, looking down at his hands, fiddling with a coin between his fingers.

“Tell me about Rackham,” Teach murmured, breaking the silence. After a moment, he added, “You miss him. I can see it. If you see something in him, I should at least try, although he seems to me to be the sort of man who would constantly get on my nerves as my second in command.”

Charles raised his eyebrows, a fond smile curving up his lips. “Yeah, that's Jack.”

He thought back to how Jack had shot Paul something-or-other in the head for even suggesting he would turn Charles over for money. Jack was just as prone to violence and possessiveness as he and Anne were, though the tendency showed itself less frequently. It made Charles strangely pleased when Jack killed for him.

Teach gave him a quizzical look and passed him a mug of rum. Charles sighed, lowering his voice to a murmur.

“Not the most obedient quartermaster I've ever had. Has his own ideas about what's best for you, although to be fair he's usually right. If it wasn't for him, I'd have died a long time ago.”

Teach’s brow furrowed. He looked thoughtfully at Charles. “Hmm.”

Charles tapped his finger idly against the side of the mug, silent for a moment, as they listened to the wind lashing waves against the hull outside.

“Loyal to a fault. Once you’re his, you’re his forever.” He glanced up at Teach. “Ever been betrayed by a woman?”

Teach smiled a little. “I've had nine wives, so I'm sure you can make your own judgement.”

“Ever been betrayed by a woman and have her beg for your forgiveness, do everything in her power to make it right, because to see you hurt is the worst thing she could imagine?”

Teach shook his head and looked carefully at him. “What did Rackham do to hurt you?”

Charles shrugged. “I can truthfully say it doesn't matter now.”

Teach shook his head. “I know you don't take a betrayal lightly.”

“I didn't,” Charles growled.

“That's not what I meant.” Teach let out a sigh. “If you forgave him for this, whatever it was, then he must be a man worthy of my respect. Even more so for keeping you alive in my absence. I do owe him that.”

Charles looked down, moving the coin over his knuckles. “Jack and I share a love--” He stopped and cleared his throat. “Unlike anything I’ve experienced before.”

Teach paused for a moment, and then said gently, “I can understand why you didn't tell me about this, especially when you were younger. But you should know there's a measure of freedom afforded to someone with a reputation like yours. When I was a child sailing with Avery, it was fairly well known he took both men and women as lovers. No one questioned him. Now, it would have been different if one of our crew had done it, but there you are.”

Charles shook his head in amazement. “First I'm hearing of it. That's one thing you have in common with Jack--you give a shit about all those men and their legacies, and you know all about it. He'd be over the moon talking to you.”

Teach laughed warmly at that and Charles returned his smile. With a sigh he shook his head, got to his feet and went below decks.

It seemed longer than just a day ago that he had woken a few hours before dawn, and had watched Jack sleeping beside him in the dim light filtering through the window, suddenly feeling that this was the end of their time together. He remembered something Jack had said a few weeks ago, about how the battle to defend Nassau would be unwinnable if men had no reason to fight it. Charles had long suspected that few of the men had the same dedication to their way of life that he and Jack did, despite everything they had done to secure Nassau’s future. And it had been easy for the new governor to exploit that weakness.

Jack had been nestled snugly with his back against Charles’ chest, turned on his side, skin warm to the touch. Knowing it would probably be a long time before he got the chance again, Charles ran his fingers along Jack’s thigh, and Jack hummed in his sleep, responding just slightly to the touch, as Charles’ eyes wandered over his body, from his long lanky legs to his tangled hair, the way it fell down over his forehead, and the way his sideburns framed his mouth as if inviting Charles to imagine kissing it.

Charles had kissed the back of Jack’s neck. “I need you, Jack,” he had whispered, his voice catching in his throat. He had turned Jack’s face with his hand, brushing his thumb over Jack’s lips, watching as Jack opened his mouth, still half asleep, and sucked on his fingers, moaning quietly.

It was cold and damp in the hold of the ship. Charles lay alone in his hammock, remembering the feeling of Jack in his arms, wincing, trying to imagine the pressure around his cock wasn't just his hand.

Jack had licked his lips when Charles withdrew and opened his eyes just slightly, squinting, reaching back to grab Charles' ass and give it a squeeze, pulling him closer. “Can’t keep your hands off me, Chaz.”

Charles had pushed his fingers back into Jack’s mouth--a strange little quirk that Jack liked that so much, but then again so did Charles--how warm and wet Jack's mouth was, how obediently he opened it for Charles every time, and the way he looked, soft lips parted, that clever tongue of his brushing against Charles’ skin, unable to make any remark more coherent than a noise of pleasure.

Charles relished how Jack moved his entire body tighter against him, eager despite his sleepiness, craning his neck backwards and licking Charles’ fingers. Jack’s breathing hitched as he ground his ass against Charles’ cock, and he moaned around the fingers sliding over his lips. Charles drew them out wet with saliva before reaching down between Jack’s legs and pushing them inside him. Jack whined, long and desperate, and rolled onto his stomach. He lifted his hips off the bed and pushed back against Charles’ hand.

“It's so easy to make you want it,” Charles had purred in his ear.

“ _Charles_ ,” Jack had panted, “how much longer do I have to wait for-- _ohh_.” He moaned as Charles shifted his fingers inside him.

“Don't be such an impatient fucking whore, Jack,” Charles had murmured affectionately in his ear.

“Really?” Jack had hissed. “Remind me, who was it who was begging me to fuck him just last night?” He fell silent and whimpered at the movement of Charles' fingers.

Charles laughed low in his throat and nuzzled Jack’s ear. “And you were so good at that too, but that's no way to speak to your captain.”

“Still my captain? Hm.”

Charles had leaned down and kissed the side of Jack's neck gently, drawing a sweet moan from his lips, and growled, “You're so good, Jackie...always give me exactly what I want.” Jack's legs began to tremble against him. “I'd like to fuck you, but I could come just watching you come apart underneath me.”

“But you wouldn't do that to me, would you?” Jack said quickly. “It would be a lot better for both of us if you fucked me. I love you, darling, but don't tease me like this.”

Jack’s voice had been choked, pleading in the way that made Charles feel warm all over. He had hummed in amusement in Jack's ear as he thrust inside him, felt Jack accept him with a delightful whimper, acquiescing so perfectly beneath him. He kissed every inch of his back and shoulders that he could reach. Slow sleepy morning sex like that was something Charles especially liked, maybe because it meant Jack stayed with him all night like Eleanor never did, maybe because he just couldn't keep his hands off him.

They had finished before the sun rose, catching their breath, warm and relaxed. Charles had turned Jack over and kissed him thoroughly, looked at his messy hair and ran a thumb down his cheek over his sideburn to his chin, and murmured, “Wish I could keep you like this forever.”

He knew Jack had felt the same foreboding about the way that day would unfold, but had said nothing. They lay awake together until dawn, Jack stroking his back, as Charles focused on the sensation of Jack lying against him, one leg nestled between his thighs.

Charles squeezed his eyes shut to prevent himself from tearing up as he finished. The satisfaction was only physical, leaving him feeling cold and empty.

 

He went back on the account with Teach, hunting ships off the coast of the Carolinas. It was hard to sleep without Jack by his side, harder to imagine if or when he'd ever see him again. He would kill just to hear one sarcastic remark, or listen to Jack muttering to himself with dry wit. The one reassurance he had was Bonny--as long as she was with him, he knew Jack would come to no harm, and he could bear the rest of it, even the nights when he woke in a panic, reaching for Jack beside him, hand closing on thin air. He could bear the mornings when he woke alone, and imagined that Jack lay in his arms, running his hands up and down his back, eyes creased at the corners as he said something smart. He could bear it because he had no other option.

After some time they came across a ship full of Spanish intelligence. Charles’ Spanish was a little rusty, but as he scanned one of the charred pages his heart started to race. It was something about Rackham's partner, and how some of the Urca gold had been exchanged for gems and pearls and was in her possession. _Her_ possession. Spain had a spy in Nassau, that much was clear. Charles read it again. Why didn't it say it was in their joint possession? He could think of only one explanation, and that was that Jack had been captured. Once the possibility had crossed his mind he couldn’t shake it away, and that one thing that had been holding him together was gone.

He planned to make his departure in few days. He didn't know how he would do it, given that there was a considerable price on his head the moment he set foot on the island. He had no allies to draw upon, no knowledge of where they were keeping Jack. But he had to try. Then by some stroke of luck Flint had walked up out of the sea, very much alive, with men, resources and the intention of retaking Nassau.

Charles found Teach standing by the surf, gazing out over the water. They stood together for a few moments in silence, Charles watching him carefully.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you,” Teach said finally. He turned to Charles and was silent for a moment before pulling him into a rough embrace. Charles returned the hug tightly.

Teach pulled away, giving Charles a warm smile with a tinge of sadness. “It was foolish of me to hope that we could go on sailing together forever. These past few weeks have been incredibly meaningful to me, watching how you've grown into a capable leader.”

Charles grinned at him. “You've never actually said outright that you think of me as a son. Now's as good a time as any, isn't it?”

Teach’s eyes glinted at him. “I suppose you're right.” He cleared his throat and shook his head. “I know there is a time in every parent's life when they must learn to let their child go. If that time has come, then so be it.” He gripped Charles’ shoulder with his hand. “Go with Flint, find Rackham. Perhaps we will see each other again soon.”

Charles had looked back at him one more time before turning and joining Flint in the longboat. They got the ship underway quickly, and it wasn’t long before Ocracoke Island disappeared behind them. Charles’ gaze remained on the horizon where it had faded away.

 

 

It was a few days to Maroon Island with good winds under a clear sky, with Nassau a few days journey beyond that. Flint led Charles to the compound where he would meet the Queen of the island, and where they would discuss the plan Charles had outlined to him. She was an impressive woman, as was her daughter, both commanding respect in a way Charles had witnessed few men accomplish in his life.

After Flint had finished describing their plan, the Queen asked, “And you propose to use this cache of gems to finance our war?” At Flint’s nod, she pressed, “And will it be enough?”

“More than enough,” Flint answered. “One could live many lifetimes on that treasure without exhausting it.”

Charles let his gaze stray around the compound where they stood, and our over the lush forest surrounding it. The whole of Maroon Island impressed him--a community of freed slaves continuing in secrecy, existing despite the bitterest attempts of every power in the world to stop them, even existing long enough to bring up children who had never known any sort of violence or humiliation. The boys and girls in the street watched the pirates with curiosity but no real fear, knowing that on this island, under the protection of their Queen, they were safe.

Some of the children were the same age he had been then.

“Captain Vane, they tell me you were once a slave.”

Charles glanced up to the source of the voice. Madi was looking at him with a piercing gaze which Charles’ felt missed nothing.

“It will be difficult to hold this alliance together,” Madi continued, not so much surprising Charles as impressing him with her frankness. “Some of my people mistrust yours, just as some of your people mistrust mine, but I hope your support will show them we have more in common than we think.”

“I will do everything in my power to ensure it,” Charles replied. “It can't be in the interest of any pirate to see the slave trade continue when it is the source of England's wealth and stability. Take away that stability, take away that wealth, and men who find themselves on the wrong side of the law will prosper. Or so it seems to me.”

Madi nodded. “So you might explain it to your men, but how do you explain it to yourself?”

Charles shrugged and smiled slightly. “Any man who holds another as property is any enemy of mine. I need no other justification.”

Madi returned his smile, grim and fierce. “Then I believe our partnership has a future. Let us go find the cache of gems for our war and the partner to help us fight it.”

 

After they had arranged a time and place to meet up again, Madi split off to collect arms hidden by her father in town, Silver to the tavern. After the preparations were made, all they could do was wait in the dark cottage by the side of the road. Light came in slowly through the windows as the day dawned. Charles fiddled with one of the delicate cups from the shelves, unable to stay still, turning it over and over again in his hands, and looked at Anne, immovable, her face drawn as if she might snap like a bolt of lightning.

He didn’t know what he could say to her. If this didn’t go as planned, there was no reassurance he could give her or himself. They either got Jack and the cache or they got nothing, and compared to Jack, the cache was small change.

When he had initially told her his plan, she had scowled darkly at him. She had been ready to fight a hundred men at the risk of losing her life to free Jack.

“If you lose a precious thing, ain't it your job to put it right? I should've stopped him from going back there. Let him just walk away from me. And you just want to hand over the cache? Fuck would we do that. Your plan is _shit_.”

But when her anger cooled off she had come around. It was a risk giving up the cache to reclaim it, but not as great as the other, more terrible risk, of watching Jack slip through their fingers to end up in a Spanish noose.

Charles put the cup back on the shelf and stood. It was agonizing, waiting, wondering, his whole body tense. So he watched Flint, kneeling by the fire, clearly the victim of his own internal monologue. He thought back to Charlestown, and Ms. Barlow--wondered if Flint would trade this cache of gems and their war for his love, if he could have her back from the dead by some miracle.

At last they heard hoofbeats. They got quickly into their saddles and into position before the carriage passed by, then gave chase. Charles watched with pleasure as the governor's men turned in fear at their approach.

“Now,” Anne yelled.

It was hard to make the shot from horseback but Charles’ focus was narrowed to a razor point, and he would leave no room for failure. The carriage went off its wheels, smashing into the ground. Anne dismounted, ran to the carriage and stepped inside the wreckage, Charles behind her. Jack lay with his head under a beam, blood running down the side of his face, utterly still, and they both froze, barely breathing as they watched him. And then he raised his arm weakly and groaned and time resumed. Anne knelt down quickly and pulled him into her arms, and pressed an urgent kiss to his lips.

Charles saw Jack lean up into the kiss and close his eyes, wincing as Anne pulled away. “ _Ow_ ,” he breathed, and then he registered Charles’ presence.

Charles smiled at his stunned expression and began trying to break the manacles that held Jack to the wreckage, gritting his teeth as he pulled and pulled.

“I thought you said you and Nassau were through,” Jack managed, a smile flickering over his face as he looked up at Charles.

“Got worried you’d be lost without me. Glad to see I was wrong about that.” Charles looked Jack over, trying to judge the severity of his injuries as quickly as he could.

Flint appeared in the door of the carriage, a little bloodied. His men behind carried the cache of gems. “We need to move. Now.”

Charles glanced up. “Go, take the chest to the beach. We’ll be right behind you.”

“Right behind us?”

“Yeah.”

Flint nodded and disappeared from view.

“Bastard’s still alive. I should have known,” Jack muttered with a laugh.

“Some men are nearly impossible to kill. He seems to be one of them.”

At last Charles broke the chain from the wall. He bent down and held Jack in this arms, lifted him carefully, slowly, pulling him out of the carriage to safety. Jack winced and wrapped his arms around Charles shoulders as Charles’ supported him by the waist. He held him as gently as he could--Jack was limping, leaning heavily against him.

Anne brought their horse over. “Ain't got any more time,” she murmured.

“Can you ride with him?” Charles asked her.

She got up in the saddle. “Yeah. Bring him here.”

Jack looked at Charles with concern. “No, _no_ ,” he hissed. “You're coming with us.”

Charles tried to quiet the hammering of his own heartbeat, and shook his head just slightly. The hoofbeats of the governor's men were drawing closer. There was no time left.

He murmured, “I love you, Jack,” pressed his mouth to Jack's slowly, and kissed him for a long moment, probably too long--felt the parting of Jack’s lips beneath his own, Jack’s hands clenching helplessly in the fabric of his tunic, drawing him closer. He felt Jack’s little gasp of shock against his lips as he pulled away.

And then he urged Jack onto the horse, helping him up behind Anne.

“Go.”

Jack shook his head, clinging to Anne.

“ _Go_!”

Jack closed his eyes briefly, then looked at Charles one more time before Anne urged the horse forward.

They rode until they reached the water and dismounted. Jack fell to his knees on the sand in exhaustion, looking back in the direction they'd come. He felt Anne's hand drop to his shoulder. “We can’t go back,” she said, her voice quiet but hard.

“I know. I won't disobey an order he's given twice,” Jack snapped.

Anne helped him to his feet again and he winced with a hiss of pain. If it wasn't for Charles holding off the rest of the governor's men, none of them could have made their escape, and all three of them would have been captured. He knew that.

He knew. Anne helped him into the longboat. He tried to focus on the fact that he was doing what Charles' had asked. Instead he saw again in his mind Rogers kicking Charles’ to the ground viciously as he motioned one last time for them to flee.

Flint assured him that Billy would do whatever he could to help Charles escape. Anne pointed out again that Jack was in no shape to do it himself and would instantly be recaptured, and he knew she would never in a million years let him attempt anything like that when she had just lost Max. All of it was to say: Jack could do nothing, nothing but replay those moments over and over again in his mind, wondering what else he could have done.

 

They sailed to Maroon Island and laid their plans for luring Roger's fleet into battle. Jack insisted that he captain the ship in the bay. He was useless commanding any forces on land. Flint's gambit on the beach paid off, but Jack's ship was hopelessly outnumbered by Roger's fleet, but surely it was as much of a suicide attempt to engage them as it was to wait and do nothing.

And then the fleet of ships appeared on the horizon, and Jack's heart swelled with triumph. Teach would turn the tide of the battle in their favor. Suddenly victory seemed not only attainable but certain.

Jack stepped down onto the deck, Anne beside him.

Teach looked at him, at once seeing him and looking right through him.

“Charles is dead.”

Jack...Jack didn’t understand. It didn't make sense to him, not yet. It was too awful to be true, so he stared at Teach in shock, barely breathing, thinking _no, no._

Teach looked like death. He looked tired, deeply sad. There were dark circles around his eyes, dark eyes holding embers of anger in their depths.

Jack felt sick, and everything was wrong, too much, too bright. It was incomprehensible. The word was stuck in his throat but at last he got it out in a breath. “How?”

“Governor’s men, killed trying to escape.”

Jack breathed in, and suddenly felt like he couldn't breathe at all, like no breath could reach his lungs.

“There’s no time for you to mourn right now,” Teach said to him. “We have to focus on the battle ahead.”

An order like that Jack could at least understand. He focused all his grief and anger against those men, sent Anne across the distance between their ships and watched as her men take one ship and turn its guns against the rest of the line. It was a bloody, dirty, horrible battle. Jack felt nothing now, no satisfaction at their victory, no sadness. Just numbness.

Anne found him in his cabin. He told her to leave him alone, but she wouldn't, and he wasn't sure if he was angry or grateful beyond words.

He had nothing to say, but at the same time everything to say, but he couldn't find the strength. Couldn't find the words except, “If I had _been more_ in that moment, Charles might still be alive.” And that was the most important thing, wasn't it?

The words remained, hanging in the silence between them. No amount of denial and reasoning from Anne could stop him from hearing them over and over again.

 

They overtook the governor’s ship, and Jack thought they were so close to victory, then watched in horror as everything went wrong. Rogers raised his arm with barely any expression on his face, ordering his men to continue the keelhauling. Teach held on beyond the point that any man should ever suffer, defiant till the end, of his captors, of pain, of even the limits of the human body. By the time the gunshot extinguished his life they had spent so much time trying to torture him into submission that they had no time left for Jack, as if in his last act Teach was protecting the only remaining thing which connected him to Charles.

They were in the hold, Anne turning to him and whispering in his ear, and Jack wanted to curl up and try to make every part of him stop hurting. Charles was dead, and Anne was asking him--telling him--she was going to fight this brute of a man who had just killed two men, whose bodies lay discarded on the floor next to them, where she too would die. “ _No, absolutely not_ ,” he hissed. She looked at him hard and he knew it was her choice, and she had already made it, and he was insulting her by pretending he could overrule her. So when asked to choose another man, he remained silent, every part of him alive and screaming with fear. And then he watched her get beaten and thrown to the floor, felt his throat choke up and his body tremble with every blow. “ _Anne, get up_ ,” he begged her.

She did. It was like watching the dead come back to life. And afterward when they had killed the rest of the governor's men, he crawled to her body and cradled her in his arms and saw her open one eye and wept and wept.

 

Nassau was burning. Jack wasn't sure how Max had made it to the other side of the island in one piece, but there she stood, her skirts blowing in the wind, urging Jack to leave before the Spanish reached the interior, to save himself and Anne. It wasn't a question of whether or not he would ask her, just how nicely.

“Are you coming or not?”

A small flicker of some sad, tender emotion passed over her face despite the fact that his tone of voice had been anything but tender.

He took her onboard the ship, and she followed him down into the hold, a hand catching him by the elbow, now furious.

“A war against civilization? How are you so blinded as to not see you will lose? Eleanor is dead, Anne is _nearly_ dead and you would follow Flint into more of the same?” she hissed at him.

He had been too tired to argue, which he ordinarily would have done even though he wanted to acquiesce to her logic. He thought about the sacrifices contained in the box they'd buried in the ground on Maroon Island, more precious than gold, and weighed those against the importance of protecting Anne. In comparison to her bloodied but living, breathing body those intangible sacrifices came up weighing as little as smoke, eluding his grasp and slipping away to nothing. All for nothing.

Before he left, he asked her bitterly, “Was it your idea or Roger's to suggest to Anne that I was being tortured to get her to turn over the money?”

Max folded her hand in her lap and looked at him, her gaze sharp as steel. “I don't think it matters. What matters is that I lied to Anne.” Max’s voice was quiet, as quiet as the whispering of the waves sending the lantern light dancing around the cabin. “When I convinced Roger's to exchange you for the cache, I was too blinded by what I thought was my victory to see that he could easily change the terms of the deal. In that moment I could not imagine failure. That is something we cannot afford to do any longer.”

“Wait a moment,” Jack began, “Rogers had agreed to release me in exchange for the cache? That wasn't a ploy, at the start?”

Max shook her head, her lips trembling.

“So your word was betrayed. When you told Anne I would be set free, you didn't know it would become a lie.”

Max swallowed and nodded, blinking back tears. “Simply because I didn't not _intend_ to hurt her, it does not make my betrayal any less real.”

Jack turned away, struck by the fact that Max had not even attempted to defend herself.

“Jack,” Max began, and he tensed at something in her voice. “I begged Eleanor to postpone his trial. I finally convinced her that going through with the hanging would alienate men on the street.”

Jack’s breath caught in his throat. “You did that?” he asked after a moment.

Max pressed on. “I thought he might try to escape. I thought he might succeed and find Teach again, and cease to be any sort of trouble for Nassau. I did not want to see more bloodshed, more hangings...I did not want to see him in chains.”

Jack turned sharply as tears threatened behind his eyelids. “Thank you,” he bit out out before leaving the cabin.

 

It was dark in Anne's room, but just light enough for him to see the ghastly bruise on her eye, and a tear slipping down her cheek as she tried to sit up. “Max,” she whispered with effort, her voice rough, scratching her throat. “They're burning Nassau--betrayed me, but the thought of her hurt--”

“Darling, stop,” Jack whispered quickly, pressing gently on her shoulders. “She's here with us, above deck. She’s here, unharmed. Lie down. Let me help you.”

Jack changed her bandages and helped her bathe. She squeezed his hand painfully hard at the sting of water on her raw skin. She was too tired to even speak. Jack distracted her by murmuring about this and that, trying to keep her mind off the pain.

Finally he got her into clean dry clothes, her wounds covered in fresh bandages, and carried her to her hammock, gently lay her down on her side.

He smoothed her hair, and pressed kiss to the top of her head. She could barely move her hands, and her fingers twitched as she looked up at him.

“I'll come check on you soon,” he whispered.

The night air above deck was cool on his cheeks. He tried not to cry, he really tried, but he had resisted for so long. His knees gave out and he crumpled to the deck, shaking. Max was beside him, kneeling down, pulling him into her lap as he sobbed. He buried his face against her dress. The memory of Anne's fight against the guards wouldn't leave him, and how she looked afterwards, when he wasn't sure if she would live, and he had known clearly that it would be his fault if she died. And she was the last person for him in the world. He couldn't lose her. There was simply no him without her.

“Sshh,” Max whispered, “she's going to be alright, Jack. She's safe. You're safe.”

“You didn't see her,” he whispered, “you didn't see her. Oh God, it was...”

“It's over, it's all over.”

He clung to her, weeping silently until there were no tears left.

At last he calmed down, extricated himself from Max, too tired to feel embarrassed or ashamed, and went back to check on Anne, then fell asleep sitting on the floor next to her hammock.

 

Max’s plan to enlist the help of Madame Guthrie progressed slowly but surely. Anne continued to recover, slowly, painfully, but every bit of progress eased Jack's concern a little more. He slept next to her every night partly to take care of her, partly for his own comfort.

He thought back to the day he had met Madame Guthrie, when a young girl had asked him if he had known Charles Vane. After she had revealed those grotesque rumors she had read in some paper, she had told him another she had heard:

“They say his ghost still roams the sea, that you can see his flag flying over his ship, one skull and one knife on a field of black.”

Jack had laughed so that he wouldn't cry. He wondered if Charles would give a fuck if he was remembered after his death, or maybe if he would enjoy the idea of terrifying the shit out of some stupid Englishmen as a ghost story. The thought made Jack smile fondly, just a little bit, and it felt good to think about Charles and smile for a change.

Jack tried not to let himself wonder how Charles had died, if he'd been shot or beaten, how much pain he had had to endure before the end. He tried not to imagine Charles' hands wandering over him when he woke in the morning. He tried not to dream, and on each count failed.

 

“Ain't sure why she's still here.” It was morning, and Anne lay beside Jack with her back to him, tangled hair illuminated in the dim light. “Couldn't sleep all night,” she continued, and then fell silent again.

“I have to tell you something, darling,” Jack whispered.

Anne turned over slowly onto her back and looked at him. “About her?”

“That's right.” He bit his lip as she waited in pained silence. “What you said before...about how easy it would have been for her to lie. You were right. She told me she doesn't ever want to lie to you again, but I don't believe she has been entirely truthful either.”

“What do you mean?” Anne asked, her body suddenly taught and ready to snap like a cord.

“Just listen,” Jack murmured, soothing her with his hand. “When she promised you I would be released in exchange for the cache, she gave her word based on Roger's own promise to her. She had not meant to betray you in that moment. She sees it as no less of a betrayal, but at the same time she barely thought it worthwhile to defend herself to try to redeem herself in your eyes.”

Anne looked down and exhaled, sinking into the bed. “What am I supposed to do with that, Jack?”

Jack tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “I'm not sure. Maybe nothing. Perhaps just know that she takes all the blame for hurting you even when her word was betrayed by someone else, and that it is the worst thing imaginable for her.”

Anne glanced up at Jack's face. “To take the blame for it?”

“No, to see you hurt. She may even want you to blame her--if it will make you feel any better.”

Anne huffed a sigh. After a moment she said, quiet and sharp as a knife, “It doesn't.”

 

Jack helped Silver transport a prisoner from Savannah to Maroon Island--a man he'd never met before, who according to Silver was the key to drowning the damned cat, as Madame Guthrie had put it. Jack had no idea how this seemingly well-educated well-spoken Englishman fit into the story of Captain Flint, and once again, as in that afternoon with Charles in the fort, had the sense that he was looking in on some tangle of lives and histories whose depths eluded him.

And then, finally, returning to Philadelphia, pulling Anne into his arms. It was like coming home, holding her again, resting his face against her hair. He had known Max would take good care of her. She looked so much better than when Jack had last seen her, just the hint of a bruise on her eyelid, her hands wrapping a blanket tightly around her shoulders to protect against the cold.

He couldn’t sleep that night, and when he rose to the window, he saw that soft snow had begun falling. Anne was sitting beside Max on the bench below in the courtyard, and Jack saw her lift her hand and place it in Max’s upturned palm, gently close her fingers around it. He heaved a breath and sank to the floor, letting the tears roll down his cheeks in the joy of relief so sharp it was painful. He could still see Anne in his mind, so bloody, one eye swollen shut--but now she was sitting outside in the snow, bruised but recovering, alive and holding the hand of her lover. It was all going to be alright. Everything was going to be alright. Jack heaved a breath, slowly beginning to unwind the tension that had tied knots around his heart the past few weeks.

 

Anne finally pulled him aside, stumbled over her words, but then everything came pouring out amid curses and short silences--that she didn’t want to fuck him anymore, but she didn’t regret anything they’d done either. That she wasn’t sure what to call what they were or what they’d become, but that she was done trying to figure out who she was and what she wanted, because she knew she could find it with Max.

Jack pulled her into his arms and told her he knew, and it was alright, it was alright, she didn’t have to justify or explain any of it to him. She hadn't expressed any interest in sex since they’d left Nassau and he hadn't wanted to bring it up, knowing she would talk to him when she was ready. He saw her relief when he told her again that he knew and had known for a long time, that he loved her more than anything, that he wanted more than anything for her to be happy.

He had half expected to feel at a loss when she told him. After all, if she were to come to him tomorrow and say she wanted to fuck, he'd play whatever role she wanted him to play willingly. But this was Anne, and she said none of it lightly. This was no whim, but something constant in her that had been there from the start before Max had brought it out into the light. Jack found that he was not losing anything but gaining something immensely more valuable, because her happiness was of such priority to him that her needs were his own.

“It ain’t that we can’t share a bed,” Anne muttered, her face pressed against his shoulder. “Ain't what people normally do, but I don't care. You need it, I need it. Not ready for that to change.”

Jack closed his eyes as he rested his face in her hair. “Then it doesn’t have to change,” he whispered. “I’m still yours, darling.”

She pulled back to look up at him, pressed a small kiss to the side of his mouth, making him smile, sealing whatever this was--less of a goodbye than a welcome. She murmured, “Partners till they put us in the ground, then.”

He rested his forehead against hers and let out a laugh and a sigh of contentment.

Max assumed control of Nassau, and Jack watched her step into her new power with pride. It wasn't any woman who could win Anne Bonny's heart, and Jack wouldn't entrust her future to anyone else.

 

He remembered what he'd said to Anne. " _Charles Vane is dead. I do it for us._ "

It was true, to a certain extent. She was right about what Charles would have wanted, or not given a fuck about. Jack could imagine all the things Charles would say to him--about the importance of staying with Anne, of surviving with her. Letting the dead go. Making what he could of their future.

But secretly, when he was out at sea, he felt close to Charles again, imagined he could hear his voice in the rumbling surf, and hear his sword clashing amid the onslaught of a battle. The sea reminded him of Charles now, free and untamed, powerful and beautiful. It felt like Charles' presence was all around him. Jack knew he shouldn't rationalize it like this, but he felt pride at keeping this way of life alive a little longer. He could live with that legacy--Charles' legacy.

The wind was cold against his face and the tears on his cheeks. Jack closed his eyes. He shouldn't think about it more than he already had been. He should try to move on somehow. But he couldn't muster the strength just now, and all he could think as he looked out as the sea was _God, I miss you._

 

He didn't speak about it to Anne, but he couldn't really keep anything from her either, not when they still shared a bed. She would hold him every night before they fell asleep together, not forcing him to talk, just stroking his back. And when the waves of grief had passed, she was still there with her head nestled under his chin, the rock he clung to in a stormy sea.

 

It was a few days of sailing without spotting a vessel before Jack heard the call from above.

"Sails!"

He picked up his glass and squinted into the sunset. The light was red-gold on the water, dancing around the small shape of a vessel some distance off. Jack glanced at Anne and returned her excited smile, feeling his pulse quicken at the thought of the battle ahead.

The ship didn't run and drive them to chase, but continued to approach them steadily, and as it neared, Jack felt the hair raise at the back of his neck. Something was strange about this vessel. He wasn't sure how he knew, but as he studied it he began to notice details--damage from guns on the bow, old repairs to the sails, and more gunports than he would have expected on any ship designed to peacefully transport cargo even in order to protect itself from pirates.

"I'm not sure this is a merchant ship," he said quietly to Anne. "Raise the black!" he called, and watched as the colors were unfurled above. His heart hammered in his chest as he watched the other ship for a response.

And then, there it was--black lifted against the sunset in answer. Jack lifted his glass to his eye. "What the hell," he said quietly. "I don't understand---I--"

"What is it, Jack?" Anne hissed.

Jack turned to her, his heart racing. "That's our flag. That's the _Ranger's_ flag." She furrowed her eyebrows at him and followed him as he raced to mid-ship. "Pull us alongside!" Jack gripped the rail hard, barely able to breathe.

"Jack--" Anne started.

"No, just _wait_."

The ships drew closer. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly. Jack scanned the opposite deck, unsure exactly of what he expected to find. It was ridiculous to think--it was impossible--and it hurt to even entertain something like this--

And then there he was, in the flesh. Stepping up on the rail, resting his thumbs in his wide belt, tilting his head a little as he looked at Jack, hair a little longer than when Jack had last seen him, eyes glinting.

Jack's men moved a plank in place across the narrow gap between their ships, and Jack stepped forward slowly, wordlessly. He was afraid that if he took his eyes off Charles for even a moment he would disappear into thin air, into the crimson sunset. Surely none of this was real. Surely he was seeing an apparition, or had lost his mind. He was too hot and too cold, his palms sweating as his hands fidgeted by his sides.

And then he was across the gap, pulling Charles into his arms, burying his face in the side of his neck. Feeling the brush of his beard, gently touching under his jaw where there was no sign of injury, feeling him warm and solid and alive--

And then Charles was kissing him on the mouth, holding the back of Jack's head in his hand. There was nothing Jack could think about but Charles' mouth on his, the scratch of his beard, head tilting slightly to kiss him a little deeper, and Jack kissed him back as if he was drowning and Charles was the air he needed to breathe.

Charles wiped Jack's cheek with his thumb, and Jack tried to blink back the tears in his eyes.

" _You were dead_ ," he heard himself say distantly.

Charles hummed in amusement. "Not the first time I've come back from the grave, is it, Jack?"

Jack pulled Charles tightly back in to his arms, squeezing his eyes closed as Charles held him against his chest.

 

It took some time for him to remember that the rest of the world continued around them--two crews, watching, as waves crashed gently against the hulls of their ships. Charles pulled him gently down onto the deck, and Jack turned to look at Anne, standing behind the rail of the _Colonial Dawn._

"Darling, how do you feel about being captain of your own ship?" he called. He grinned at her, giddy with exhilaration.

Anne tilted her head at him, smiling as she looked at him tenderly. Jack pressed a kiss to his hand and held it out to her across the water. "See you at home in about a week, Jack," she called. Then, to herself: “Fucking unbelievable.” She glanced between them once more, shaking her head and giving Jack a small brilliant smile as she turned away.

Jack grinned at her, turned to Charles, who took him by the shoulder, his hand a reassuring weight that made Jack feel warm all over. Charles turned to address his crew. "If anyone's got a problem with what just happened, now's your last chance to jump overboard and swim to Bonny's ship. Although you might not like it over there any more than here."

A few laughs went up from his crew, and Charles turned, a smile spreading across his face as he looked at Jack.

And then Charles was leading him to the Captain's cabin, closing the door, pulling him into his arms again, pushing him against the wall, pressing his mouth hungrily to Jack's. He tugged at Jack's coat, kissed the side of his neck heavily as he pushed the coat from his shoulders, as Jack tried to touch him all over.

"Darling." Jack was gripping him hard as if any second he might be pulled away.

" _I'm alright, it's alright,_ " Charles murmured, backing off slightly, lifting a hand to cup Jack's face. "I wasn't going to die and leave you like that. God knows what sort of trouble you'd get into without me."

"You're really alright," Jack whispered.

Charles grinned at him as he pulled his shirt over his head. "See for yourself."

Jack's hands were on him again, checking his chest and neck and abdomen, finding the familiar strength and solidity of his body, without any wounds but with new scars--alive, warm, heart beating hard under Jack's palm.

"They said you were killed trying to escape."

Charles held Jack's hand to his chest and chuckled. "Bastards would, wouldn't they. I tried to find you. Heard you had sailed up to Philadelphia. I just missed you at Skeleton Island, found out about the deal you'd made with the Guthrie woman--"

"Darling, I know it's not what you wanted, compromising like this. It's a betrayal of our way of life--I know--and I wish it didn't have to be this way--"

" _Jack_ ," Charles interrupted with frustration, "you were going to be hanged by Spain, I was going to be hanged by England. By some miracle, we both survived, Max is controlling Nassau, and trade depends on the threat of piracy to keep prices high. It may not be the victory I imagined for us, but it's a victory. _Your_ victory."

"It didn't feel like a victory at all without you," Jack whispered.

Charles shook his head. "I promised you I wouldn't come to any harm."

Jack exhaled and pull Charles close against him again. He ran his hands over Charles' back, feeling Charles hum eagerly under his touch.

"But don’t you wonder what it would've been like if we had had our war? If we had challenged England?" Jack asked quietly. "Do you regret giving that up?"

Charles pulled back and looked at him. "Not if it means living to see another day. Not for a moment. I've learned my lesson in that regard.”

Jack studied his face tenderly. "Time was, you would have rather died than submit to England's rule."

Charles grinned, lowering his voice in Jack's ear. "Who said we were submitting to anything?"

"What do you mean?"

"The Queen on Maroon Island, Madi--she and I have discussed a partnership of sorts," Charles murmured. "From the beginning, that war was destined to end in our defeat, as little as we wanted to admit it then. But submission to England is equally undesirable." Charles glanced at Jack, smiling slightly as he continued. "So we have chosen a third option, no full-fledged war, no surrender to England, but a state somewhere in between--an operation that will quietly free and transport slaves to safety at a rate that will be tolerated by England in the same way that they are forced to tolerate piracy in the Bahamas."

“Do you really think that can work?” Jack asked, catching his breath as he looked at Charles’ exhilarated expression.

Charles’ smile spread wider. “It’s already working. Although it would’ve been working better if I hadn’t been sailing around aimlessly trying to fucking _find_ you.”

Jack wasn't sure if he was laughing or crying now. He sank down in a chair and Charles knelt between his legs, wrapping his arms around Jack’s waist, looking at him with concern.

“They almost hanged you,” Jack whispered, in shock.

“Do you think it's too much of a risk?”

“No, I think you and the Queen have calculated the greatest possible reward for the smallest possible risk, and once more I am in awe of you,” Jack whispered. “I don't think it's in your nature not to act when there are men who are not free, and I love you for it and I wouldn't have it any other way.”

“What is it then?” Charles asked, looking up at him with worry.

Jack swallowed, brushing his thumb idly over Charles’ bare skin. “I had accepted that you were dead, and now you're here safe in my arms, and I'm forced to think about your death and how it was such a terribly close thing.” He fell silent.

Charles let out a breath. “Had the noose around my neck and everything. Not sure what Max said to Eleanor to stop it.” Jack shook his head. Charles took his hand again and held it to his chest. “I’m alright, Jack.”

Jack heaved a shuddering breath. “And then?”

“And then the pastor came to visit me again to try to get me to repent, and I reasoned with him about the benefits of helping me escape.”

“How, exactly, did you _reason_ with him?”

“Got my chains around his neck,” Charles said with a grin. “Asked if he’d rather die in that cell with me then and there. Turns out he’s just as much of a coward as I thought he was. Once I was free, it was difficult to get out without a fight. Killed a dozen of Roger’s men making my escape, and it wasn’t pretty.”

“What do you mean?” Jack asked slowly, with rising suspicion. “Were you badly hurt?”

Charles faltered, gave the smallest shrug of his shoulders as his eyes flickered up to Jack’s face. “Madi’s agents found me and cared for me until I could manage on my own. It was humiliating for Rogers to lose a prisoner like me, so they lied and said I was dead.” He paused, exhaling slowly as he looked at Jack, suddenly hesitant. “I wasn’t in any shape to prove them wrong for quite some time. For all they knew, I could have died from my injuries.”

Jack closed his eyes and shook his head, sending a few tears down his cheeks. It had taken Anne those long months to recover from a beating that had lasted minutes. If Charles had fought a dozen men in a weakened state, Jack was sure his condition had been similar to hers, but he didn't want to imagine. He thought about Charles lying in bed for weeks, recovering, having barely made it out with his life.

Charles lifted Jack’s chin and dried his cheek gently with his hand. “Nothing worse than anything I’ve already endured.”

“But you shouldn’t have to endure any of that,” Jack replied angrily. He looked Charles over again hungrily with his eyes, but there was no remaining sign of any wounds on his skin. “Rogers’ fate was worlds better than he deserved,” he muttered, hands tightening possessively on Charles’ shoulders. “I knew I would regret not running him through with my sword then and there--why I had that restraint I’ll never fucking understand, to not make him pay for what he did to you, what he did--”  _to your father, mentor, friend--_

“ _Jack_ ,” Charles said firmly, gripping the side of Jack’s neck and shaking him gently. “You don’t need to get vengeance for me. I’m right here.”

Jack hummed in acknowledgment, though with some reluctance. Charles pulled him by the chin into a soft kiss and brushed the last tears from his cheek.

“ _Alright_?”

Jack took a deep breath, and then another, and another. Charles stroked his cheek with his thumb, brushing down over his sideburn to his chin, then up to ghost across his lower lip, dipping down in the middle to open Jack’s mouth slightly. He watched Jack's eyes flutter closed.

“So now that's been gone over, when are you going to get it through your head they I'm not dead?”

"But it's horrible, all of it, and I...should have been able to protect you," Jack finished quietly, so quiet he thought Charles might not have heard. But when he opened his eyes Charles was looking at him, almost with a guarded look in his eyes.

"Couldn't have done that," he said simply.

"I don't care," Jack replied, with vehemence that surprised him. "I should have..." 

He pulled Charles back against his chest. He stroked Charles' back, and felt the tension slowly unwind under his hands, until Charles shuddered and went still.

Jack held him there for a long time, until he felt the wetness of Charles' warm tears bloom against his neck, and until they had dried.

 

What felt like a long time later, Jack ran his hands over Charles’ shoulders, feeling Charles stir and respond eagerly to the touch. "I never thought I'd get to hold you like that again, darling," Jack said quietly. He lifted Charles' chin and placed a kiss on both of his cheeks.

Wordlessly, Charles turned his head slowly to catch Jack's mouth.

It was a soft kiss at first, growing deeper and more desperate until Jack was clenching his hands in Charles' hair, leaning in to chase Charles' mouth. Charles lifted Jack's shirt over his head. They scrambled for the bed, and Jack was blissfully unable to think--about Charles being hurt, about the men responsible, any of it--feeling Charles' cock pressed against him.

Charles pulled back to look at him. He opened Jack’s trousers, and pulled them off, fumbling a bit as he rushed to take his own off as well, as if he couldn't go even a moment without touching Jack. Jack didn't fare any better, pawing at his chest to bring him closer and leaning up into his kiss.

It was a longer kiss this time, uninterrupted by the need to get out of their clothes, starting wild and frantic and finally melting into a gentle exploration. Jack couldn’t remember anything about those long months without him since there was nothing he could summon to his mind while Charles was kissing him senseless.

At last Charles pulled back to catch his breath and ground down against him. Jack groaned at the feeling of Charles’ cock against his, and Charles’ hand encircling them both.

"Look at me, Jack," Charles said hoarsely. Jack opened his eyes, took in the sight of him--alive, unharmed, gaze heavy with desire and devotion. He clenched his hands in Charles' hair and yanked him into a kiss, bit Charles' lip hard and breathed out a laugh as Charles growled deep in his throat.

" _Jack_ ," Charles groaned, his voice breaking. He stroked his hand against them both. "So I guess you missed me," he said breathlessly, grinning as he looked down at him.

Jack held onto him for dear life, pulling Charles down against his neck as they finished together, breathing hard. And when they had caught their breath, Charles pulled back to look at him, then buried his face against Jack again. Jack closed his eyes and held him without the intention of ever letting go. He felt Charles relax in his arms again.

 

Jack woke lying half on top of Charles, feeling the slow motion of the ship and Charles’ chest rising and falling under him. It was dim in the cabin, perhaps an hour before dawn. Jack’s fingers drifted up the the side of Charles’ neck, feeling the scratch of his beard--proof that last night had not been some feverish dream, and that he was really here in Jack's arms, so relaxed he looked nearly passed out. Charles nuzzled his hand, still half asleep, and shifted against him, drawing Jack’s scattered attention straight to his cock, hard against Jack’s stomach.

Still half asleep himself, Jack managed to straddle Charles’ hips. He braced one hand on Charles' stomach, and then used the other to begin stoking himself, his gasps swallowed up in the sound of Charles’ slow breathing.

Jack realized he had closed his eyes at some point as Charles’ hands began to drift up and down his thighs. He looked down at him through half-lids. “Aren't you going to help me?” he whispered.

Charles blinked at him with a sleepy smile. “No, I'm just enjoying the show.”

Jack let out a groan, half at Charles’ laziness, half at the feeling of his own hand. He fumbled beside the bed for some oil. Charles’ began breathing a little faster as Jack stroked his cock. Then Jack sank down on him, forcing a groan from Charles’ mouth, and began to ride him slowly, hands braced against his chest. He fucked himself on Charles’ cock, making himself moan, feeling Charles’ gaze on him, and the hands on his thighs starting to squeeze harder.

Then Charles took Jack by the hips and brought him down tightly against him, buried all the way inside him, holding him still. Jack twitched at the slightest movement of Charles’ hips and let out a strangled sound before Charles rolled over on top of him with a growl. Jack raised his hands over his head, letting them lie against the blankets pillowed under them. Charles pinned him down hard.

“Without even being asked,” Charles purred, leaning in close to Jack's ear as he thrust him down against the mattress. “Good boy.”

“ _Christ_ ,” Jack hissed as Charles quickened the pace. They were both definitely awake now, although still deliciously relaxed from deep sleep.

The downside of Charles pinning him down, Jack thought vaguely, was that he couldn't tug at the roots of Charles’ hair with his fingers and illicit the little noises of approval that we're sure to follow. Charles hair hung down on either side of his face, a little tangled, tickling Jack's chest as Charles bent down to kiss him. It was a relatively sloppy kiss with lots of tongue, not that Jack minded in the slightest, his moan getting swallowed up in Charles’ mouth.

Charles released one of Jack's wrists but tightened his grip on the other. He stroked Jack's cock, visibly breathing harder as he got closer, urged on by Jack's fingers rubbing little circles against his scalp.

“So good, darling,” Jack whispered, his breath catching in his chest.

Charles’ eyes fell closed, and he came inside Jack with a groan, his hand on Jack's cock bringing him to completion. Jack spilled across both of their chests, and Charles bent to lick him clean.

“Like to wake up like that more often,” Charles murmured with a dazed smile.

Jack let out a quiet laugh, catching his breath, and stroked Charles’ hair back from his face. “It's a bit strenuous on my thighs, you know.”

“Fuck you, Jack.”

At Jack's little noise of indignation, Charles hummed in amusement, buried his face in Jack's neck and murmured, “Means ‘I love you, Jack,’ has since the beginning, I just never said as much.”

Jack let out a little contented “ah.” He traced his finger over Charles back tenderly. “So how are you planning to explain to your crew that I fucked my way into the position of quartermaster again?”

“You didn't, the first time.”

Jack chuckled. “Yes, darling, how right you are, but the second time I definitely fucked you and they all know it. Might that make things a little awkward if I'm to be part of your crew?”

Charles laughed against his neck. “I want you to retain your title of captain. You'll sail with me as my partner, and when Bonny wants to be in Nassau with Max I'll sail with you as yours.” He pulled away and grinned at Jack, bumping their noses together.

“And who would captain your ship in the meantime?”

“I don't care, they can fucking figure it out.”

**Author's Note:**

> update: I did some [ art ](https://urcadelimabean.tumblr.com/post/179100704250/reunion-kisses-you-were-dead-not-the) :D [and here's the much shorter piece that comes after.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14690523/chapters/33944487)
> 
> comments are loved <3


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